


All The Effects Of Love

by honestys_easy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Idol - RPS, Angst, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Gay Rights, Hospitals, Lawyers, M/M, New York City, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-16
Updated: 2009-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the years of first glances, first kisses, first loves, Brandon Rogers and Ace Young had the perfect relationship.  But when tragedy strikes, the couple discovers how much they truly mean to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my Chris Richardson/Blake Lewis New York AU Smile A Smile For Me, telling the story of Brandon and Ace’s relationship that was a side story just dying to be expanded. The first story doesn’t have to be read to understand this one, but there are recurring characters and relationships among them in both. I hope you like reading this as much as I’ve loved writing it: I haven’t put this much into two characters and a storyline perhaps ever.

_June 2001_

Seven minutes before the performance had even begun and the thought passed through Brandon Rogers’ mind that he’d seen the most beautiful thing he’ll ever be alive to witness.

His friends all believed he was this vast patron of New York City culture – especially Blake, the energetic teen from Seattle; Blake frequented the clubs and concert halls of Manhattan but couldn’t tell Neil Simon from Paul Simon. But Brandon scoring free yet well sought-after tickets every year to Shakespeare in the Park was no different. The annual event had been running long before Brandon had been born – Blake says it must be ancient then, and Brandon just has to laugh, nineteen isn’t so far off from twenty three - and was the highlight of summer in Central Park, performed in an open air amphitheater overlooking the very Elizabethan-like Belvedere Castle.

Brandon did enjoy the performances, of course, but it certainly wasn’t the reason he came back each year, sometimes more than once if his contact at the box office could swing it for him. He always came in early to score a premium seat, not up front to fully capture the actors’ expressions but up and back, so the stage was merely a speck, a diversion for the whole of the audience to watch while Brandon watched them. It was an activity every New Yorker shamelessly partook in every now and again: a quick glance around a subway car, the outdoor café glass of iced tea lasting long enough to get one’s fill of passers-by. But it was such an experience to watch others when they didn’t think they were being watched, perched high in the Delacorte Theater like a Central Park hawk, catching the audience’s rapt expressions and the disinterested yawns of those not as impressed. It was the full spectrum of the human condition, and for that Brandon had a front row seat.

The stage had been set for one of old Willie’s comedies, though it looked quite different from any other production held here before: leafy, true evergreens seemed to sneak their way from the park onto the stage, connecting the amphitheater with the serene, controlled wilderness around it. Normally Brandon’s attentions would have been on the people below, a nervous teen on his first date inching his sweaty palm over a girl’s thigh, or the painfully obvious out-of-towners with an endless supply of disposable cameras, or even the artificial lake and castle tower might have caught his eyes, backlit by a steaming setting sun. But this evening something else caught his eye, made his breath catch and hold in his throat and allowed Brandon to wonder if during all those years of people watching, this was what he was searching for.

 _He just couldn’t be here alone,_ Brandon thought, eyes trained on the brunette head that had to be at least a dozen rows down but every detail of that head, that face Brandon only caught a glimpse of, was already ingrained into his memory. Long chestnut hair shielding a fair complexion from behind, falling past his chin in carefree waves that almost called out to Brandon to run his fingers through that mane. His eyes were behind sunglasses but Brandon bet they were light, something like a gray with the knowledge of ages behind them, or green to match the evergreens on stage. Brandon felt the urge to abandon his post, lift up those glasses without saying a word, and find out for himself.

He was tall, Brandon surmised, definitely taller than Brandon but that wasn’t much of an accomplishment for other men. He slouched in his seat, masking his full stature, but a perfectly toned arm lay slung casually over the seat adjacent to him, muscles clearly defined through a faded gray t-shirt that fit over him like a second skin. Brandon had to grip his own arm to keep from jumping right out of his seat and possibly making a fool of himself; the short yet poignant fingernails digging into his bicep reminded him that arm draped so innocently across the seat probably indicated the other man had indeed not come to the performance alone.

Brandon had taken a good amount of risks in the name of romance, certainly put his head on the block just on a wink and a hunch. But he wasn’t keen on trying to strike up a conversation with this man just as his boyfriend…or, oh God help him, _girlfriend_ , reclaimed that adjacent seat.

Boyfriend?...Girlfriend? He was usually fairly good at figuring out these sorts of things, having gone through his paces at the school of hard knocks for nearly half a decade now. All he knew was that he couldn’t take his eyes off this young man, his breath coming into his lungs shallow and suddenly inferior for these past 23 years because he hadn’t previously kissed that air. He must have been new to New York, Brandon concluded, because he had never seen him before and if he lived in the same time zone as Brandon he was certain he would have already met him.

Seats and rows were filling quickly now; it was a Tuesday performance, which were notoriously empty, but it was the last Tuesday of the play’s run, and its young, flamboyant cast and eccentric director were causing quite a stir among the theatrical elite. Five minutes until lights down – there were no house lights to turn down but the sentiment was clear, the parks department couldn’t very well turn down the light of the summer sun – and the crowd was settling in, usually a vibrant puzzle of intriguing faces and personalities to Brandon but tonight just a superfluous blur.

Four minutes and still no boyfriend carrying a bag of popcorn from the concession stand, no girlfriend relaxing back into his arms to complain about the bathroom line. All well and good, Brandon thought, as his mind was already ticking off devious possibilities to incapacitate or eliminate any phantom obstacle, male or female, from him getting closer to that man. Three minutes left, and the way the brunette curled his fingers around the seat back told Brandon’s expert eyes he’d only be searching for a boyfriend. Brandon’s gut and his heart, on the other hand, told him that arm was just waiting to drape over his shoulders, fingers waiting to tangle themselves into the curly, bristly hairs at the nape of Brandon’s neck.

Two minutes until the show began, and Brandon believed he might just die that night if he never got to see this beautiful stranger’s eyes just once.

It was shockingly easy to give up his position in the back of the amphitheater, the prime location snatched up quickly by bloodshot-eyed teenagers less than interested in the performance. As Brandon rose to his feet the sound of the beating of his heart thundered in his head: this was more than fascination with the new stranger, something beyond a need to satisfy his curiosity or boldly flirt in the cooling summer air. He was drawn to the man, spurred on by the spark in the air, like he was meant to notice his muscular build and wonder the color and the life behind those sunglasses. Brandon didn’t put much stock in fate – it wasn’t pleasant to look back on one’s life and think that being despised and disowned by the very people you thought would trust and love you unconditionally was God’s plan all along. But he couldn’t deny that something brought him to this performance, this night, made him take his perch and catch sight of the other man, and compelled him to descend the rows and take that empty seat as his own.

He also believed that same something made the other man turn around in his seat, almost on a whim, and lock his gaze with Brandon’s through tinted sunglasses, startled yet admiring expression thrillingly similar to the way Brandon must have looked when he first saw him.

One minute left and he was close enough to touch, to thread his fingers through the silky, long hair, to pull off the sunglasses and see the man for who he really was.

“I’m surprised.” Brandon slid into the seat next to the beautiful stranger effortlessly, like the seat had always been reserved for him and the other man had been guarding it from passers-by with a protective arm the whole time. He pulled his arm back now, Brandon realized, but only out of propriety; the rest of his body looked too anxious to move a muscle. “I thought it was illegal for a man like you to come to the theater alone.”

Almost instantly after the words left his lips Brandon regretted them; he meant to give sly meaning to the words, that this man was far too beautiful not to have someone desire to see Shakespeare with him. But the words could have been mistaken easily, poking fun at an obvious jock patronizing the arts, or something even more sinister. Brandon had his first impression one-liners, hell he developed a whole repertoire, but now with his man they all seemed so petty, so out of place. Something told him that this, of all first encounters, was the time to put contrived flirtations away and talk from the heart.

The other man didn’t take the line badly at all; he still appeared too stunned to react, too surprised that this man was talking to him, approached him, for God’s sakes was flirting with him. Brandon wasn’t fool or conceited enough to call himself a catch, but he was far from ugly and he knew it: toned and muscular himself but for health and not for vanity, his dark skin and expressive eyes attracting more than a few men to his side. His hair routinely annoyed him and he contemplated on more than one occasion to shear it all off, but just the thought of this man tangling his fingers into the unruly curls as they kissed made him rethink his stance.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Brandon, pointing down to the plastic theater chair he was already sitting in, knowing it was not and knowing he wouldn’t have moved even if King Kong came to devour the entire theater.

Slowly that startled look faded from the stranger’s face and a smile spread across full lips, revealing a wide grin that shone brighter to Brandon than any footlights on stage. The smile sparked life into his entire face and body; it was the first time Brandon thought his heart would stop over just a smile. “Looked like you were preferring it up there,” he pointed up towards the back of the theater, at Brandon’s vacated seat; his voice was soft and drawn out like slow-poured honey, the hand at his side still but itching to return to its spot across the back of Brandon’s chair.

It took a few seconds for the older man to answer; he was still trying to get his mind to catch up with the rest of the world, trying to memorize every sound and sight of this man if he should ever get away. “You were watching me,” Brandon surmised with a smile, noting with surprise that the other man’s breath seemed to catch in his throat at the spreading of his own lips, a smile that for the life of him Brandon didn’t know why it was so wide. The thought – no, the fact, Brandon hoped he wasn’t overstepping – that this absolutely gorgeous man, the one that made everything else in the theater, in the entire park, fade away, had noticed Brandon just as much as Brandon noticed him…it thrilled him in a way he didn’t even know was possible.

“Well, not in a creepy stalker-ish, ‘it puts the lotion on its skin’ way,” the other man joked, and it was corny but Brandon found himself grinning from it because he simply wouldn’t get enough of the sound of his voice. “But it’s kinda tough not to notice you.” He gingerly removed the sunglasses from his face, revealing glittering eyes in the most peaceful shade of green Brandon ever had the pleasure of describing. There was nothing between them now, no obstacles to conquer or barriers to shield them, but Brandon had never felt more secure in his life. “I’m Ace,” he said, not holding out a hand to shake for introduction but his smile was all the welcome Brandon needed.

He matched the grin, feeling a peculiar warmth spread throughout his body as he took the other man in, the chestnut hair framing a smiling face, and those eyes…it was Dorothy stepping into Oz, the rest of the world a dangerously dull sepia tone after seeing the color behind those green eyes. “Brandon,” he said, as the other man gave off a little sigh, mouth moving ever so slightly to repeat to himself the way the older man’s name sounded on his lips.

The light upon the stage went on full blast, mankind’s technology attempting to outshine the setting sun, and the warm drone of murmurs from the crowd quieted to a polite round of applause to welcome the start of the performance. Brandon felt reluctant, almost disappointed, to tear his gaze away from Ace and pay attention to the colorfully dressed actors on stage. He’d only be pretending to pay attention, after all: his mind was buzzing with the new feeling, strange but not at all unpleasant, a feeling like a new page of his life had just turned and he had only just met the guy. He wouldn’t ever think of watching the play when he had only caught a glimpse of those green eyes, and he already felt like a lifetime of looking at them would never be enough.

“You said it’s a crime for a guy like me to be at the theater alone.” The voice was hushed to keep the inevitable shushers at bay, and Ace had to lean in closer to be heard over the theater’s professional sound system. His breath danced upon Brandon’s neck, the shell of his ear, and Brandon had to grip the armrest until he swore he’d pop a blood vessel to stop himself from shuddering. “You’re here alone too, y’know.”

It wasn’t just one thing that attracted Brandon’s gaze to Ace that night, not just his body or his hair that made him move from his seat and take a daring chance of a lifetime. It was everything about him, how his mouth broadened into a grin and how he didn’t shirk away at all when Brandon sat next to him. How later they’d talk all through the performance about the dubious merits of virtue and how hot the lead male could possibly make a prude villain; how they wouldn’t stop talking about everything under the sun until that very sun rose the next morning, the two men learning all there was to know about one another without so much as sharing a kiss. How Ace tried to hold back a lustful moan from his lips when Brandon not-so-accidentally brushed his fingers against the denim on Ace’s thigh, but Brandon so, so noticed the spark in his eyes.

Brandon couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he turned back to the beautiful man, tall and built like a Greek statue but with a life in his eyes that spoke the absolute opposite of cold granite or marble. “I’m not anymore,” he said simply, as the crowd roared with laughter over a particularly bawdy joke penned over four hundred years ago.

***

_May 2008_

“Well, that was quite a night.”

Brandon heard his lover enter the kitchen before he saw him, but after years of waking up next to the other man he could almost recognize his presence just from him being in the room at all, no sense of introduction required. He was putting the finishing touches on breakfast, a spoonful of sugar in his coffee, a smattering of butter on the wheat toast, his back to the kitchen door, but he didn’t need to turn around to know exactly where the other man was headed.

Strong, familiar arms wrapped around Brandon’s waist, fingers fanning underneath his shirt and along the hemline of his boxers, the contact of skin to skin as exhilarating to Brandon now as it was the night before, as it was nearly 7 years ago. Soft tendrils of long chestnut hair brushed against his temple as Ace leaned in to kiss his cheek, to inhale the very scent of the man he loved. Brandon closed his eyes for a brief moment and just breathed everything in, thought fleetingly about calling in to work and freezing this moment just as it was: the love of his life, holding him in his arms, never wanting to let go.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ace’s warm, comforting voice, lips still murmuring against Brandon’s skin and placing kisses every now and again. His hands went to Brandon’s hips, pressing in slightly. “I think I worked you a little too hard last night.”

There was an apology in Ace’s words but his tone was all mischief and giddy satisfaction that he made Brandon shout out his name last night like he meant it, made damn sure they tested out how nosy the neighbors might be over eavesdropping on the couple. Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle because yes, Ace’s dominant and rather animalistic return home from work yesterday was surprising, and he was pretty sure he’d be feeling it and remembering it all morning, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

“You’ve got to remember,” Brandon joked, leaning back indulgently into Ace’s touch because he could never get enough. “You’re dealing with an old man here. This old body –“ he had to give a wink to stop the shiver from coursing through his body, Ace obviously disagreed with him – “It just ain’t what it used to be.”

Ace’s tone turned husky in his ear, laced with lust and affection. “I still think it’s pretty amazing.”

Before they actually took this a step further and forgot about the toast, the coffee, the office and the law firm – which had happened on more than one occasion, and thank God for personal days – Ace retreated with a loving peck against Brandon’s lips, and a playful squeeze of the other man’s ass, grabbing the glass of juice Brandon poured out for him on his way to the kitchen table.

Finally turning around to take a good look at his lover – not that Brandon didn’t already know what Ace Young looked like after all these years but he never really needed an excuse to eye the other man anyway – he noticed the younger man already had his running shoes on with an old t-shirt and track pants. He was already halfway out the door for his morning jog, which probably meant that there wouldn’t have been a chance for the couple to happily postpone the day’s drudgery on opposite sides of Manhattan. He watched the other man rest at the dark wood kitchen table, absently sipping the juice while flipping through the morning’s copy of _The New York Times_. It was what Ace did every day but every day Brandon saw the spectacular in the ordinary routine, looked at Ace with a silent reverie and overwhelming love, knowing that yes, this man was  his.

“Well, would you look at that,” Ace remarked at a particular front-page story as Brandon carefully made his way over to the table, toast and coffee in hand. He was never quite sure how Ace got himself up in the morning, let alone took a run along the renovated pathways of the West Side Highway every day, without a jolt of caffeine to start the day. He held out the front page for Brandon to see as the older man eased down into his seat, a satisfied grin growing on his face. At first Brandon thought it would be about a particular case at the firm, but contract law rarely made front page news unless the client was going for a stint in rehab; then he saw the article’s headline and the picture underneath it, and knew why Ace was grinning.

Across the front page an older couple embraced joyfully in bright sunshine, two men graying and wrinkled but with a light of glee in their eyes that made them look young as teenagers. Two women in smart suits cheered behind them and all around them were signs and banners very similar to ones Brandon had helped champion across the country in New York. The photo, the headline, all the smiling faces bathed in the California sun brought a genuine smile to Brandon’s face.

“About damn time,” he mused, taking a sip of his coffee while Ace returned the newspaper to his hands and began reading the details of the sunshine state’s monumental legal decision. It couldn’t have been better that morning if the by-line in the _Times_ read that his good friend Blake Lewis wrote the article. Although he and Blake oftentimes agreed on political advocacy issues and could many times be found right at the heart of a gay rights rally or a protest against a heinous hate attack, Blake’s scope on change was always on a larger level than Brandon’s. He believed in making as much of a difference as he could, and the world would be the exact reward he was looking for. Brandon focused more on making local differences over national policy, developing mentoring programs for gay youth and working to better the world one person at a time.

For Blake and a few of Brandon’s other friends, the sky was the limit and there was no stopping them. For Brandon though, he had all he needed right in that kitchen.

“Conservatives are going to protest, of course,” Ace scanned the page, a disconcerting grimace on his face after reading some of the choice words an opponent of the law had to say in print. “The legislation looks solid but you never know; if someone wants to find a loophole or a fault, they will.”

“Let’s just hope ol’ Ah-nold will get into talks with Governor Patterson on this,” Brandon noted. The newly appointed governor of the state had always had a solid stance on providing the LGBT community with the same rights and respect as the rest of his constituents, but in his first few weeks as governor he had failed to do so. Besides, Brandon hated that California now had bragging rights over New York; Brandon was fiercely loyal to his home state, especially in terms of gay rights. This was even worse than when Massachusetts bested them in legalizing gay marriage; it was like the Dodgers and the Red Sox all over again.

The other side of the table was uncharacteristically quiet; Brandon looked up to find Ace’s attentions no longer on the paper but on him instead, gaze intent and deliberate, tiny smile peeking out from kissable lips. Brandon certainly wasn’t complaining that the man he loved was staring at him with those piercing green eyes and making him melt so early in the morning; but he knew the look in those eyes, he had seen it before.

“What?” asked Brandon, feigning ignorance.

Ace didn’t lose his composure but there was something unrecognizable in his face; Brandon had a bad, sinking feeling in his stomach, there was precious little he didn’t know about Ace by this point. “The question’s still open, you know,” he said simply, a bit more cryptic than he planned but Brandon still knew the cipher well.

The question…Ace should have rephrased it and situated the emphasis correctly. It was the question, the thing Brandon knew girls like his friend Amanda would have killed somebody to hear, the one thousands of gay couples were now whispering throughout California thanks to the new legislation. Ace had asked it before, a sidenote to a conversation two months ago while Brandon was on his way from the living room into the kitchen to escape a particularly dismal Knicks game on TV, like he was asking Brandon for a top off or inquiring about the weather.

Ace had said it would be for insurance purposes, even though the good senior partners at Davis, Fuller & Lythgoe were extremely generous to their non-traditional relationship; but even so, Brandon couldn’t find a good reason to go through the hassle and time for marriage, only to have the state shoot down a license procured in California or Massachusetts. But deeper than that was the fear: Brandon had not had the best example of a well-functioning family growing up, and even before meeting Ace, even before Brandon knew within himself that marriage would be an uphill battle, he knew that was not the road for him. He loved Ace with all his heart and cherished their relationship more than anything in the world; he didn’t want to chance ruining that perfection by changing it in any way.

Yes, that question was still open, and it wasn’t that Brandon didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with this man; he just didn’t think a piece of paper and a ring would solidify that in any way. But Ace still kept the question out there, silently hoping one day that a positive answer would come.

Brandon suddenly became intently interested in the rim of his coffee cup, the texture of their buttered toast. That damn toaster oven was the bane of Brandon’s existence, each slice of toast and ruined bagel charred on one side and barely warm on the other. Ace always defended it with a kind smile and superior litigation skills: he’d hold Brandon’s hand in his up to the morning light streaming in through the window and say the toast just reminded him of the pair, stark contrasts of dark and light but still part of the same entity, inseparable.

“It won’t make me love you more,” Brandon compromised, knowing any less might hurt Ace’s feelings, and God, he didn’t want that. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

It was a comment meant for Ace to blush, and he did, smiling in the softest way not because he was embarrassed from Brandon’s comment but because he felt the exact way about him. “There are over 1300 legal benefits for married couples,” he had ticked off this detail before, didn’t think it would convince Brandon any more than it had the last time he asked, but it was worth a shot. “I’m just talking legally here.”

“None of which would be offered to us in our great state of New York,” Brandon reminded him. Despite all the fanciful talk of liberalism and progression in New York the couple would be sunk if they married in another state. _Another reason to keep everything as it is,_ Brandon thought to himself.

Ace chuckled to diffuse the conversation that never went anywhere, the one that Ace always let Brandon win because as good of a lawyer that he was he couldn’t argue his lover into marrying him. He always brought up the legal standpoints and how easier just the simplest tasks for couples would be with a marriage license; he never let slip how much he wanted in his heart to marry Brandon, to make him his husband for reasons that had nothing to do with the law. He didn’t say any of this because he knew, regardless of how Brandon might feel, the older man would say yes if he knew all Ace wanted in this world was him.

“I’m not saying we should get married today,” he clarified, rolling his eyes sarcastically as Brandon smiled behind a bite of toast. “I’ve got to get to work today, I’m supposed to look over a new client’s contract for legal liabilities.” He rose from the table, setting his paper down while never breaking his stare with his lover. There was earnestness in Ace’s eyes so palpable Brandon thought he could reach out and touch it; Brandon knew Ace was the kind of man to let the topic lie down but never die. He hoped that it would never come to a day when it would be a breaking point, hoped that they could remain as perfect as they were forever.

Leaning down carefully, the empty glass of juice on the table an indication Ace was about to set off on his morning run and Brandon would be right behind him out the door to make it to the radio station on time, Ace placed a tender kiss to Brandon’s temple, then his lips. Brandon found himself closing his eyes and reveling in the soft feel of Ace’s lips against his, every kiss feeling as exhilarating as their first. Now why would he want to risk losing that deep, base connection with this man by changing any of this?

”Just…” Ace whispered against Brandon’s skin, sending thrills through his body. “Just think about it, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“I know,” Brandon breathed back. That’s all they ever asked of one another, all you could really expect from another human being was to try, to think things over and not act until you were sure you could make things work. It was a red flag immediately to Brandon when thinking about marriage with Ace, that nothing in their relationship ever came to them with difficulty, that they never really had to try to find each other and fall in love.

“And hey,” Ace took one lingering look into Brandon’s eyes, a deep and thoughtful brown that held a world of emotion over this man. A smile quirked in the corner of the younger man’s lips as he set off on his daily run, a quick peck and a caress to Brandon’s cheek. “You always said you wanted to go to Hollywood.”


	2. Chapter 2

          _July 2001_

The man seated before him in the restaurant, shy yet secure smile and long hair tied back behind his ears to show off his eyes, was a world more appetizing than the Szechuan Chicken on Brandon’s plate, and he wondered what deal he had made with fate to land this guy.

He had been floating on air ever since he met Ace at the play, all of his friends had noticed the change in demeanor; Blake had even given him a little shake around the shoulders once when he was trying to describe his latest batch of woes to Brandon, wondering what could have gotten into the older man. There was just something about Ace Young, Brandon had realized it the moment he claimed that empty seat for himself, that had drawn him, a powerful attraction that didn’t let go until the morning after and threatened Brandon to never let go.

They hadn’t even kissed that first night, had hardly touched apart from the tiniest yet deliberate brush of Brandon’s fingers against Ace’s during the third act, a casual touch that grazed against pale skin and the denim of Ace’s jeans on his thigh. Brandon felt sparks at the contact – actual sparks, he recounted, and that’s when he usually lost his audience – a jolt of electricity and sensation like he had never felt before, and he could swear he saw the lust in Ace’s eyes over the same thing.

They found they had so much more to talk about after the performance, ducking into an all-night café and nursing cappuccinos until they grew cold and bitter, talking about Shakespeare, New York City and mostly about themselves. Brandon had learned a lot that night about the other man: he hailed from Colorado by way of Columbia University and planned to go to law school there; he had four brothers, all older and all fierce Rockies fans. Ace felt so conflicted because he missed his old home but loved his new one all the same – but he never thought he could learn enough, could never know his fill about the other man.

They exchanged phone numbers when the coffee was finished and the pair grew too exhausted to keep a conversation – Brandon had to remember to pay his phone bill this month, now he was actually anticipating a call – and both went on their way, not being able to synchronize their schedules for a date until two weeks later.

Until now.

Ace passed the food around his plate, spears of broccoli dotted with white rice kernels and shredded beef in some indiscernible brown sauce, looking like he had something else on his mind other than the meal or the date. The restaurant had been Brandon’s idea – he planned the whole date meticulously, scoring tickets for an Anastacia concert through that good friend at the box office to whom he now owed two favors – but now he was starting to second guess himself. He had more than grabbed Ace’s attention the last time they met, had held it for hours longer than any man before…was there some Szechuan Chicken in his teeth or something?

“Quarter for your thoughts,” he said to the younger man, watching him shake himself out of some absent thought. It had been going well, the conversation flowing fast and easily like the bottle of wine they were sharing with their meal, Brandon feeling closer to Ace in less than half a date’s time than he felt about a number of full-fledged relationships in the past. He’d hate for it to be soured now.

Ace had to quirk a smile; it was a part of his inquisitive nature, added with the compulsion to know everything about the other man, his wants and fears, his idiosyncrasies. “What happened to a penny?” he asked.

Brandon bit back the retort that he valued Ace’s thoughts more than just a penny, fearing the problem was that he was coming on too strong. “Inflation,” he said with a shrug, and it was all well and good as Ace laughed, broad mouth smiling and open, and the sight alone made Brandon feel like he could fly.

“It’s just…” Ace looked deep in thought, his mind harkening back to something in the past. Brandon was going to have to get used to this man’s occasional bouts of absentmindedness; he felt that he would be sticking around long enough to see it occur more than once. “It’s something Elliott told me.”

He quickly answered Brandon’s confused look; he certainly wasn’t on a date with the attractive and alluring man in front of him if there was a boyfriend back at home. “Elliott’s my roommate...platonic, of course. Best friend. He loves women, but they don’t always return the sentiment.” Ace and Elliott had been the lucky participants in Columbia’s notoriously dreadful housing lottery and ended up as roommates freshman year; the timid, Virginian-born social work major and the aspiring lawyer got along famously and roomed together in the university dorms ever since. “I was just thinking of something he had said to me before we left.”

“Which was?” Brandon was curious now; he saw a change in Ace’s demeanor from the playful and flirtatious man at the start of the date to something deeper, more intimate. He felt almost honored that Ace was letting him see this part of him so quickly, so soon.

“He said –“ he began, but then stopped to clarify himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way – but he said that it’s strange for me to date a guy.”

Brandon’s brow furrowed. How could he not take it the wrong way? “Okay,” he said, wary but also curious to see where this was going.

Ace shrugged, as if he was simply the messenger of the tale, that he was oblivious to his own actions before Elliott had pointed them out to him. “I apparently just date girls, according to Elliott,” he continued. “And…do other things with guys.”

“But,” Brandon waved his hand between the two, over the shredded beef and Szechuan Chicken, hoping the end of this conversation wouldn’t involve Ace expecting the pair to go out and pick up women after dinner, Brandon’s ego and his heart probably couldn’t take it. “We’re on a date right now…right?”

Ace’s eyes went wide; that was certainly not what he had wanted Brandon to glean from Elliott’s wisdom. “Of course we are!” He exclaimed, a bit louder than he had anticipated, and it stopped a few patrons and a busboy in their tracks. “Yes, oh God yes, this is a date.”

It felt like a deadly weight had been lifted off Brandon’s shoulders, one that rested and pulled him down since the conversation began. Ace was so vehement about this being a date, so surprised to ever hear the doubt come out of Brandon’s mouth that it now seemed implausible, almost silly to think that the way the other man looked at him wasn’t boiling over with desire.

“I guess what I mean to say – in some God-awful roundabout way – is, I don’t date guys much, or at all I suppose, and I was nervous about seeing you again.” There was excitement about his date with Brandon, yes, and he had made sure Elliott knew all about that, but there was also anxiety over dating an older man, a more experienced man…hell, just the “man” part was a rough hurdle to vault. They had gotten along so well the first time they met it was like they were fated to find each other at the play; but what if that magic only lasted for that one night? What if the passionate connection they felt with barely a graze of skin was literally once in a lifetime?

“But then I saw you…and that all went away.” A smile spread across Ace’s face, happy and incredulous, still disbelieving that the worry that caused him to change shirts three times to find the perfect shade of blue just disappeared when Brandon walked through the door. “And it’s been great talking with you, laughing…so great.” Ace shook his head; the night had only just begun and already he thought it was too good to be true. “This might be my first date with another man, but…it’s the best date I’ve ever had with anyone. I just feel so relaxed with you, so comfortable…”

The words blotted out everything else in the restaurant: the waiters, the outdated Eastern décor, even the dishes in front of them, so it was only Brandon and Ace, Ace’s words, Ace’s earnest eyes, and smile that made Brandon melt. He had never received such a compliment nor did he ever want it – hyperboles were hard to live up to, and he doubted he could have been the best in bed to all of the men that claimed it. But from Ace it felt genuine, and he didn’t doubt for a second that it was his best date as well.

But Ace mistook Brandon’s silence for shock, his thoughtfulness over Ace’s frank admission to be untold thoughts that the younger man was batshit crazy to say something like that on the first date, regardless of the fact that it felt like he’d known Brandon forever. “And I’ve completely freaked you out and you’re weighing in your head whether the future sex would be worth it to warrant another half of a date with this whack job,” Ace deadpanned, heart sinking by the second as he started to believe this to be true.

Brandon raised his eyebrows; for the pre-law phenom Ace described himself as, he was a bit insecure about himself. Perhaps it just had to do with the new revelation in the younger man’s mind that he’d spent so many years avoiding emotional intimacy with another man to find that it was a different class altogether from dating women; or, that simply dating Brandon was the revelatory experience. Either way, Brandon was determined to set him straight – as a manner of speaking. “No, not freaked out,” he assured Ace, despite the younger man’s face clearly showing he wasn’t convinced. “Just…no one’s ever said that to me before. No one’s ever felt that way about me before.”

He spied Ace’s hand resting on the table across from him, previously holding a treasured fork in a restaurant full of intimidating chopsticks but now laying flat and restless against the cotton tablecloth. A kick of nerve he remembered from two weeks ago at the play stirred in him; he hesitated for only a second but then remembered Ace’s words, how they weren’t even halfway through the evening and yet just being with Brandon shot this date to the top of his list. Brandon boldly reached out and covered Ace’s hand with his, dark skin contrasting against the white, tips of his fingers brushing against Ace’s wrist. He wanted Ace to know for sure that Brandon felt the same way.

A soft gasp escaped Brandon’s lips as he looked down at their hands, the beauty that stark contrast held behind it, the warmth of Ace’s skin underneath his and that jolt of sensation just like the first time they touched, like a broken current reconnected. That was the breaking point, the small touch and caress that barreled them though that barrier and Brandon didn’t think that he ever wanted to stop touching Ace Young’s skin again. He looked up into Ace’s face, saw the younger man’s gaze on their entwined hands as well and an expression just as speechless over it as Brandon. They were like missing pieces of a puzzle reunited to form a whole; a yin and a yang to balance one another, though that analogy was too corny even for Brandon to utter. They were in a Chinese restaurant, after all, and Brandon was never a fan of irony.

“And besides,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrow, spurred on to answer to Ace’s last remark. “I don’t think there’s enough crazy in this universe to make sex with you not worth it.”

***

And oh, how Brandon wanted to send those dishes crashing to the floor and jump over the table to get to him – Ace, with those clear green eyes Brandon could drown in, both widening in surprise and darkening with lust at Brandon’s comment. Brandon restrained himself: these khakis were not stain resistant and wouldn’t stand a chance against Szechuan Chicken, and the wary looks and foreign remarks from the staff kept Brandon uneasy enough to still his urges. He didn’t want this for their first kiss, with the gaze of accusing eyes, though the unmistakable look of desire in Ace’s eyes told Brandon he wanted him to, and that was all he needed to know.

That first coveted kiss didn’t happen at the concert either, the energy and beat of the music making it a frantic club atmosphere that left precious little room for romance. If Brandon had felt watched at the restaurant then there was virtual surveillance here: the singer didn’t cater specifically to a gay audience but they were certainly out in spades that night, carefully eyeing the couple for a stolen dance from either of them, the scavengers of the club scene.

Ace was clearly out of his element, having more experience with frat parties than elite Manhattan clubs, and his movements were clumsy yet endearing. But when a shirtless Hispanic boy who looked barely legal enough to breathe the club’s air bumped into him, jostling Ace off balance into Brandon’s frame, the connection of their bodies was like pressing your palm to an open flame: scorching. Brandon felt the definition of muscles underneath Ace’s shirt as he held out his arms for balance, nearly gasped aloud when he felt their hips grind together, a movement benign enough on the dance floor but startling and new to the both of them. He felt the shudder run through Ace’s body over the contact and heard the whispered “oh, God” from his sweet lips. They let go, eventually, but the wine in their systems from the dinner emboldened them enough to hold on for seconds longer than friendly, longer than normal for a first date.

The only thing disappointing about the entire date, Brandon had to admit, was that it had to end.

“Still the best date you’ve ever had?” They were outside of a monolith of a dormitory building, a co-op Columbia University renovated into student housing. Brandon wondered which of the windows on the face of the building could have belonged to Ace’s room, which one he could picture with the light on at night, a room given the honor and pleasure of housing that beautiful man every night.

Ace smiled, blushed: he knew that little admission at dinner, no matter how truthful, would come back to haunt him throughout the date, but he never realized how much he wouldn’t care. “Oh, it’s up there,” he said with a wink. His thoughts hadn’t changed but only intensified over dinner and the concert. Where there were usually awkward pauses throughout a date or vain attempts to impress or at least not look like a fool, there were only affectionate glances, intense conversation and laughter. Where Ace would want to hold back for fear of looking out of place at the concert, Brandon’s presence there allowed him to let loose, dance without worry of being out of rhythm or looking ridiculous while doing it. “Doesn’t quite beat that Valentine’s Day in fourth grade when Katie Pearson let me look up her skirt for a Snickers bar, but…”

Brandon laughed, an open-mouth, barking laugh from deep in his gut; at this point it wouldn’t have even mattered what Ace was saying, the older man was hanging on to every word. But it had been like this all night, with Brandon finding Ace’s words all intriguing and fascinating without even trying, and Ace watching Brandon’s every movement like watching a ballet, an epic poem in motion, a masterpiece for the discerning eye. “Well, I suppose I can’t really beat that,” he joked, though in his mind he knew he’d be willing to show Ace a lot more of himself and he didn’t even ask for the Snickers bar.

“You still haven’t told me how this date rates for you,” said Ace, raising an eyebrow in a flirtatious, courageous manner he didn’t know he had in him. He was leaning against the brick of the building, keys in hand but just dangling there, not planning to utilize them for quite a while. “Best date ever?”

Brandon shrugged. “Maybe.” He was being deliberately coy, enjoying the game. It had been the most stress-free date he had ever remembered, feeling comfortable to talk with Ace about nearly anything that came up, laughing with abandon and joy, and by God it wasn’t terrible to have to look at this man from across a restaurant table or have his body pressed against Brandon’s to the beat of a thumping bass. But there was one more thing that would make this the perfect date with Ace.

“Scale from 1 to 10?” challenged the younger man.

The smile Brandon gave him was indulgent, hungry, almost wolfish. He took a step closer, daring to reach out his hand to take Ace’s, the one holding his keys, just another slight touch, a hook of Brandon’s finger around Ace’s, a small physical connection that meant the world to him. “9.5,” he compromised, a smirk on his lips as Ace’s held a frown.

“Is there anything I can do to make that 9.5 a 10?” He already knew the answer, Ace could feel it in his bones, knew exactly what would make this perfect for the both of them.

Brandon advanced on him, closing the gap between their bodies like the pesky technicality that it was forevermore. The night was warm and humid but all Brandon could feel was the heat radiating off of Ace’s body and the excited tenseness in his statuesque frame as he leaned in. “This,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to Ace’s.

The younger man’s lips felt soft and so welcome against his, eyes drifting slowly closed as he took one last look at the euphoric expression on Ace’s face, responding immediately to the kiss. He felt a surge of emotion just from this, a connection so potent he had never felt it at all with another person, with any other first kiss. It was so overwhelming, the feeling of everything being right with the world now that Ace Young’s lips were on his, that it made Brandon want to weep over the unexpected joy, made him want to jump up and shout in revelation. If only both options didn’t have the dreadful condition that he’d have to stop kissing Ace to do either of them.

It was only supposed to be an innocent peck, a kiss goodnight that would definitely leave both men longing for more. But now that he was here, being drawn closer to Ace by strong arms, powerful but gentle in the way they slowly wrapped around his frame, one around his shoulders and the other pulling closer at his waist…oh God, he never wanted to stop kissing him. Ace was responding deeply to the kiss, opening his mouth and gasping softly when Brandon’s tongue prodded at his lips, asking; yearning. It almost felt too good to be true, for the both of them, that a kiss could feel so complete, so real like fireworks billowing off into the night, a downpour of emotion when one was only expecting a trickle.

He tasted like a million different things in combination but overtly and uniquely different: he was sweet from the dinner and tart from the wine, freshness in his breath and a warmth Brandon could only describe as wholly Ace. He trembled because it felt so great, because Ace’s tongue was now sliding in tandem with his and breathing deep from the taste of Brandon’s mouth. How this man could even be real, how this feeling wasn’t short-circuiting his brain over the unexpected sensations was beyond him, but damn the world if they ever stopped now.

With a bold stroke of daring Ace reached up, fingertips grazing against Brandon’s clean shaven cheek, tracing over his jaw line and coaxing out an involuntary moan from the other man. Brandon’s hands were all over Ace now, running up and down his back and holding onto defined shoulder blades like a lifesaving ledge on a cliff’s face; the only difference being Brandon wanted to fall fast and hard so the impact would send jolts to his heart…fall completely for this man. He understood now why he had been compelled to look in Ace’s direction at the play, had felt the need to sit next to him and strike up conversation: it was for this moment, this touch, this kiss, that Brandon felt could last forever.

A startling clank was the only thing to break them out of their euphoric kiss, tear Brandon’s thoughts away from pressing Ace fully against the brick wall and taking him in the middle of Columbia’s campus. Ace had wrapped his arm around Brandon’s waist, pulling him closer; when their hips met he was more shocked and excited for it than he anticipated, and gasped with pleasure as he felt Brandon’s cock against his, even through the layers of clothing between them. The keys dropped from his hand in the process, however, and the noise of them falling to the rough concrete sidewalk was louder than the sounds of their labored breathing and muffled moans.

Brandon pulled away but gave only inches, still too soon to be any farther away from this man, those lips. They were both out of breath, eyes larger with lust as they realized, my God, simple kissing was never supposed to be this good. “That was –“ he whispered before his brain could stop him, halt him because he had no words to describe what he had just felt, the mixture of lust and energy and that everything was right with the world so long as he was by Ace’s side. He shook his head, at a loss for words, eyes wide open because he couldn’t get enough of seeing Ace like this; he realized he wouldn’t want to close his eyes if they made love, wouldn’t even want to blink for fear of missing one moment.

“I know,” Ace whispered back, grinning and wishing he could capture those lips again, and again, for the rest of his life; fuck the keys. His hand went to Brandon’s hairline, weaving into the thick, coarse hair, and bit his lip watching Brandon’s face cloud over with lust, mouth parting in a silent moan. Ace would definitely have to remember that for later. He leaned in closer to Brandon’s ear, until his lips met the curve of the skin, and whispered dangerously low so Brandon could feel the vibrations of his voice all through his body. “I really want to invite you upstairs right now.”

The thought alone would have caused Brandon to shiver: coupled with Ace’s breath hot on his ear, Ace’s arms around him tightly and reluctant to ever let go, Ace’s hips against his and an erection digging into his own groin…Brandon was surprised his brain was still functioning. He wanted Ace, more than he wanted to breathe…he thought about his hands sliding underneath that shirt and feeling the muscles with slow and deliberate touches, pulling down those jeans and letting loose the cock he could feel was begging for release. But a rushed fondling in a dorm room, a quick flurry of bare limbs before he had to get back to his own place and Ace’s roommate came back from wherever he had gone…it just didn’t feel like the right time for it all, for their first time together that would certainly lead to more.

There was no question in Brandon’s mind that he wanted Ace, but he wanted it to be perfect…as perfect as the first date had been.

“I want that, too,” he said, punctuated by a lustful hiss as Ace ran a large palm over Brandon’s ass. The younger man’s enthusiasm almost made Brandon want to throw his conviction to the wind, but he knew this would be the more satisfying choice for the both of them in the long run. And oh, if this date was any indication, there would certainly be a long run. “But I won’t say yes.”

***

          _May 2008_

The lights were still on when Brandon returned from work in the early afternoon – that wasn’t that surprising, he always left the lights on when he left for work, usually before Ace came back from his jog in the mornings. In the winter when the sun shone low in the sky, if at all, it was a small but loving gesture he could extend to Ace before he left for work, and on warm spring days like this he did it out of habit. Ace usually turned off the lights once he showered, dressed for work and left, to save their electric bill; he must have been rushing out the door that day, or simply forgotten.

With a soft smile on his face at the subtle reminder of his boyfriend in the apartment, Brandon dropped his keys at the entry table, absently thinking of calling up Blake to see what he was up to. The young journalist had his routine Friday deadline to worry about to send his weekly articles in to Gay City, and he was probably racing to finish a whole new slew of articles pending the news from California, but Blake was always up for a distraction. Lately his distraction came in the form of Chris Richardson, the tall, handsome and downright humble police officer from Virginia who had stolen Blake’s heart since March. Brandon couldn’t provide the same distractions as Chris; Blake would certainly have to forgive him for that.

Besides, he wouldn’t be calling for idle chatter: he wanted to conspire more about his latest romantic scheme, a surprise trip to Las Vegas for his and Ace’s anniversary next month. Ace was always the one out of the couple known for unprovoked acts of affection; this year, though, Brandon was determined to one-up him. Blake was always open to listening to Brandon’s romantic endeavors – at least, since the younger man had traded in his peroxide locks and glowsticks for a more subdued life away from the club scene – but he was particularly interested in this secret, and thinking about a Vegas adventure of his own with Chris. Brandon just had to figure out how to pry Ace away from work long enough to kidnap him over to Nevada.

Undoing the buttons on his shirt, Brandon made his way into the bedroom, eager for relaxation after a long day of work, waiting for his boyfriend to return home and undress him properly. The lights remaining on weren’t registering as a red flag for Brandon, but the full suit – brown to accent his lover’s chestnut hair, still laid flat on the bed atop their cream comforter, untouched since Brandon left that morning – that set off the entire damn alarm system in his head.

A lump formed uncomfortably in Brandon’s throat; the air in the room started feeling unbearably hot. There were a million logical explanations for Ace’s suit to still be in their bedroom without Ace inside it, a million reasons besides that one Brandon couldn’t bear to think about. Ace was too much a creature of habit for things to go so awry, but he ran the scenarios in his head regardless, forcing his mind to come up with an outlandish alternative instead of dwelling on the worst.

 _He must have worn a different suit_ , Brandon concluded, but Ace’s wardrobe was always immaculate; he hung up whatever clothing was not worn, even going the extra distance to neatly store away all of Brandon’s clothes the older man didn’t bother to fold. There was always the possibility he had no time, but it didn’t ever take long to hang a suit back up in the closet, Brandon had to remind himself with disdain. It was against all he knew about the love of his life to further entertain that assumption.

Maybe he had decided on a whim to stay home for the day, indulging a cough he might have picked up while running or wishing to commemorate the legislative coup in California, despite how ludicrous it seemed to Brandon’s own mind. But either way Ace would have notified him, call him for sympathy if he were sick, or to join him if he were uncharacteristically playing hooky. And he was ominously nowhere to be found, Brandon looked everywhere in the apartment from the kitchen to their walk-in closet larger than most Manhattan apartments and even searching the usually deserted stairwell down the hallway. The bathroom was deserted, the shower bone dry. The suit, and the rest of the apartment, still laid untouched from how Brandon had left it when he went to work.

A cold sweat beaded on Brandon’s forehead in spite of himself; he tried not to think of the only remaining logical explanation that Ace had never made it home.

Something out of the ordinary caught his eye – something besides the suit still laid out on the bed, the suit Brandon’s fingers itched to touch and hope its familiar fibers held some clue to its owner’s whereabouts. The small, often neglected answering machine on Ace’s bedside table was blinking furiously, an untold amount of messages left for the couple. Brandon’s eyes widened, almost too frightened to retrieve them. Neither man ever gave out their land line phone number, both finding it easier to use their cell phones; the only reason they had it was that it came with their cable package, and Ace’s mother nagged the couple to keep it in case of an emergency.

The words “in case of an emergency,” the doting voice of the woman who was as good as his mother-in-law, rang through his head as Brandon’s breath caught in his throat.

He almost didn’t want to hear the messages left on a phone number listed only in the White Pages under both their names; if he stayed in this blissful ignorance he could imagine Ace was just at work, or in the kitchen, waiting with his beautiful smile and loving arms to see Brandon again. His hand was shaking as he reached out towards the machine, fingers perched on the flashing button to seal his fate.

“Fuck! Brandon – shit, you’re not home!” The tone was familiar yet strained, a tense string of curses with emotion and purpose behind them that Brandon was unaccustomed to hearing from this voice. It was Chris Daughtry – Officer Daughtry, he insisted on being called if he was on duty or if he was drunk and being grandiose – one of Ace’s closest friends and one of the few people he had known in New York before he met Brandon. The pair loved retelling the time they met almost as much as Ace and Brandon loved retelling theirs: what had started as a fierce karaoke rivalry at their mutual favorite bar had developed into a steadfast friendship as Ace went through law school and Daughtry passed through the ranks of the mounted police.

“I don’t know your cell phone number – fuck, why the fuck don’t I have your cell phone number?” the message continued; he was obviously stressed in a way Brandon simply didn’t know the collected officer really had in him. Something had to be seriously awry…why did Ace’s best friend need to contact Brandon so desperately? Brandon’s hand clenched into a frustrated fist as his mind flashed the possibilities. There were at least eleven messages on the machine, Daughtry sure wanted to get in contact with him, but he only needed to listen to the first for that numbing feeling of dread to run through his limbs like ice and turn into full-fledged panic.

“Look, just…when you get this. Don’t stop to call me, don’t even wait. It’s Ace. The ER at St. Vincent’s. There’s…there’s been an accident.” Never before had Brandon heard Daughtry’s voice sound as grave, and as fearful. “ _You have to come._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that the name is mentioned anywhere, but the restaurant where Brandon and Ace have their first date is a real place called [Ginger’s](http://www.yelp.com/biz/gingers-new-york) on 7th Avenue, a slightly more upscale Chinese restaurant than your usual takeout but not too expensive on two twentysomethings’ budgets. I have a feeling that, once Coloradan Ace got a taste of what real Chinese food tastes like in New York, he’d want to eat it as much as possible, and Brandon had that idea, too. ;-)
> 
> Ren thought of this one: Brandon and Ace go to an Anastacia concert, who doesn’t currently have much of a fanbase, but back in 2001 there was a certain afro’ed young man who went on her world tour as a back-up singer. :-P
> 
> For anyone that’s been to college and lived in residence halls, I’m sure you’re aware of the Residential Life department’s little quirk of pairing you up to live with the most incompatible student imaginable. All throughout college I heard horror stories about dormitory roommates assigned by Res Life, some of which had come to physical blows. But in some rare cases, like Ace and Elliott and my own, the two roommates get along and make a life-long friendship out of the randomness of Res Life.
> 
> And the land line story comes from my own life, haha: when I moved to my own apartment I claimed having my cell phone was enough, but my mom insisted I get a land line telephone as well. All over the country now young people are opting not to have land lines, especially in Manhattan when the bill can get pricey, but unlike cell phones, these numbers would be listed in the White Pages, so Daughtry would be able to find that number to call.


	3. Chapter 3

          _July 2001_

Brandon’s decision not to go up to Ace’s dorm room with him that night of their first date – and here he was thinking he was done with sneaking into dormitories when he left college – had definitely paid off: he couldn’t dream of a better place to fuck Ace than here, no better time than now.

This wasn’t the first time they let go of their compunctions and gave in to the sometimes overwhelming desire to be with one another – Brandon was a man that stood by his decisions but he was still only a man. There were heated, wholly un-innocent touches and gropes in the darkness of multiplexes, trips back up to that dorm room where the feel and sweat of Ace surrounded him, engulfed him in ways he could feel were more than physical. But they never got this far before, not in the three weeks they had been together that already felt like a lifetime; Ace was never so ready and enticing underneath him, open, waiting for him.

They were in Brandon’s apartment in Chelsea, a tiny studio with little room to breathe for a grown man, let alone two. There were no living or dining rooms, just one room the size of Ace’s dorm but with a kitchenette and a side door leading to the bathroom. The narrow bed stood in the middle of the room because it was the only place it would fit. Brandon wasn’t proud of the place but it was his, the one place he could survey and say with pride he had worked his ass off for, that every inch of the apartment was earned through his toils at college and work. Even so, his proud little hovel was still a hovel, and for obvious reasons he did not like to entertain guests.

But his tiny little apartment was like a palace with Ace inside.

He hovered above Ace’s frame, doing his best to cover the other man’s body with his but he thought with relish there was just too much of him to cover, gorgeous expanses of muscle and taut skin, of legs and arms and torso, oh that torso. Brandon remembered the first time he had seen Ace naked, almost a week after their first date and after endless unsatisfactory masturbation fantasies Brandon didn’t decline Ace’s invitations again. He thought he was seeing a God walk on Earth for one day, Ace’s perfectly sculpted body before him, narrow hips Brandon wanted to grip and a half-hard cock, thick and substantial, curved to the right, that begged to be caressed.

That body was with him now, hips pressed against Brandon’s, a runner’s legs up in the air with heels digging into the flesh below Brandon’s shoulder blades and that cock, oh, that cock; Brandon could say with confidence it was no longer just half-hard. He’d duck his head down to steal a glance at the member between them, stiff against Ace’s abdomen and so eager for relief and attention the head was purplish-red with tension, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Ace’s face, that soft, familiar mouth and delicious green eyes that begged him for what they both wanted.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he heard his voice say, which was true, but he hadn’t meant to say it aloud – his brain was so overloaded with sensation it wasn’t quite sure what was purpose and what was merely thought anymore. Brandon had fantasized about this ever since he met the man, dreamed of how it would feel to bend him over one of the plastic theater seats at the Delacorte or press his legs up into the air like this, and now that it was so close to happening it was still pretty unfathomable to him.

Any other time, with any other man, Brandon would have blushed at the admission, but he meant it so boldly and unabashedly about Ace that he didn’t fear anything the younger man would have to say about it; he meant every word. Ace didn’t laugh at Brandon’s words, didn’t smirk or make some crack about the ineptness of his boyfriend’s brain once all the blood had flowed elsewhere. But he just shivered, inching himself closer to Brandon, positioning his opening so close to the tip of Brandon’s cock it was near impossible for the older man not to thrust forward and fuck him into the mattress.

Which, gauging from the desire behind half-lidded eyes, was exactly what Ace wanted. He said nothing between panting breaths but his body was doing all the talking;, hips pressed against Brandon’s and grinding there, so desperate for Brandon’s touch, his attention. His brow creased in a silent protest when Brandon called him beautiful; not that he wasn’t, cockiness aside, or that he had never heard such a compliment before from others. But never like this, not when the absolute perfect specimen of masculine beauty was overtop him, staring into his eyes with an intensity that could sink ships and a body that would neither quit nor would Ace ever give up.

Brandon angled his hips, pressed in to Ace at the slowest of paces to make sure he did no harm; he was painfully slow to both him and Ace, and the younger man groaned in both pleasure and disappointment. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, eyes closing to let his mind fully focus on the sensation, the pressure. Brandon didn’t think stopping at this point was possible even if World War III broke out on the street and the couple had to flee from a nuclear Holocaust.

But nuclear Holocausts were definitely not the main topic on Brandon’s mind, not when Ace’s mouth hung open in anticipation of ecstasy, the unimaginable heat of his body enveloping Brandon with every tiny thrust, every movement, ever inch he pressed himself in. Ace certainly didn’t act like this was his first time having sex with another man and giving himself over like this, what with the way he nearly tore Brandon’s clothes off the moment they walked into the room. Or how his fingers were at his hole before Brandon could turn around to find a damn condom, slick with saliva and stretching the flesh there, readying himself to become Brandon’s lover. But they never really talked about it, not yet; Brandon got irrationally jealous just thinking other man had been in his position before, and besides, the past wasn’t what mattered, all that made sense to him now was this time, this moment, and the future that they would have.

“Oh God, you’re so tight,” Brandon managed through clenched teeth; that intense pressure he was feeling as he pushed in turned to a dangerously erotic sensation as Ace began to move underneath him, impatient with Brandon’s ministrations. God, that feeling, and the knowledge that this was Ace, was making it extremely difficult for him to hold on for very long.

He felt Ace’s heels press into the broad of his back, pulling him closer to Ace and pushing him in farther, faster. “ _Deeper,_ ” Ace implored, cutting himself off with an unexpected gasp as Brandon drove his cock in to the hilt, letting out his own shout at the sudden movement. Ace’s fingers were tying knots in the sheets from the sensations but now they found purchase in Brandon’s hair, tangling themselves into the impossible afro as he pulled the older man’s lips down to his.

Holy fuck, Brandon thought as he moaned shamelessly into Ace’s mouth, his body shuddering at the new stimulus on his skull. He’d be really surprised if Ace had never done this before.

Brandon’s hips started moving of their own accord, fueled by that deep, simmering heat of Ace’s body, a slow rhythm at first like a trickling brook that coaxed little mewling sounds out of Ace’s mouth. This was so much more than merely the physical, that ever-tightening feeling in his gut as he sped up his pace, feeling Ace’s flesh yield underneath him, all around him. He felt a surge of emotion just from being this close to Ace, to sharing this with him and bringing their relationship to a level both men were longing for. Every movement Brandon made, he wanted to make to please Ace, to give him the bliss he knew he could provide. It was here in this hole of an apartment, deep inside Ace and thrusting, that he knew all he wanted in life was to make Ace happy by being with him always.

“Oh, fuck, Brandon,” Ace broke their devastating kiss to moan into the older man’s ear, bringing out a stuttering cry from Brandon’s lips. He never thought simply hearing his own name could sound so erotic, so beautiful, but when it came from Ace’s passionate full lips he knew how amazing it could be. “You feel so good…harder, please.”

Ace wasn’t one to keep his opinions to himself and he was certainly not going to break if Brandon’s thrusts turned tough and passionate; he wanted more, desperate to feel all that Brandon had to give him and more. It occurred to him many times – their first kiss, that moment Brandon first touched him and meant it, even the first time he laid eyes on the other man – that there’d be plenty of time for them to truly explore one another in body, mind and soul. But all that mattered to him now was this moment, and if the world crashed in on them in a minute he’d like to know he didn’t ever hold back.

His voice degenerated into a deep moan as Brandon pulled his hips back and snapped them forward again into Ace, egged on by the hungry look in Ace’s eyes and the muscular legs pulled tightly around his torso, heels digging in and refusing to let go. He was certainly giving Ace what he wanted, he didn’t ever want to hurt the other man but the look on his face and the stiffness of his cock told him he wasn’t. He could have treated Ace as delicately as rice paper if he wanted him to, with feather-light touches as he made love to him all night. But if Ace wanted him to fuck him until he was shockingly sore and shaking from his orgasms, well, Brandon wouldn’t complain about that.

“Touch yourself,” he found himself saying, more of a request than a command; Ace understood and nodded before running a hand from the tangle of Brandon’s hair down his cheek, brushing deliberately against Brandon’s erect nipple on its way down to Ace’s cock. Brandon was reluctant to tear his gaze away from his lover’s face, that almost holy mix of serene sensuality and base pleasure, but the sight underneath him was just as titillating: Ace’s large palm covering his cock, stroking in tandem with Brandon’s thrusts, a clear and thick pool of precum dripping form the head and onto his hipbone. It was almost too much to take; the only thing keeping Brandon’s mind in reality and not sending him over the edge was the string of words and moans coming out of Ace’s mouth, soft, hallowed whispers of his lover’s name on his lips.

“I…” Brandon’s mind tried to formulate words but all he could focus on was the feel of Ace’s body against his, how amazing it felt to be with him and inside of him.

“Oh God, don’t stop,” moaned Ace, his head thrown back against the mattress and every syllable spoken met with a deep thrust from Brandon. The older man had been heeding Ace’s breathy requests for harder, faster, and now both men were panting and working at a breakneck speed, Brandon with a hand on Ace’s hip not to steady himself but to give him leverage, pulsing deep and grunting from the effort; and Ace’s hand on his cock, moving so fast to keep up with Brandon’s pace, fingers squeezing at the head and making himself keen with every upstroke. The bed was shaking and pounding up against the wall, but neither man noticed nor cared about the distraction.

The pressure deep inside of Ace was growing tighter; Brandon could barely stand it anymore himself, and he knew that it meant Ace was close to release. It was unfathomable that he was making this happen, that he was going to make Ace come and, though he had achieved that feat before, this time he’d feel every moment of it from the inside out. He leaned in close to Ace – their chest pressed flush against one another, he could feel the heat radiating from the other man’s sweat-soaked body – until he felt Ace’s stubble press against his, cheek to cheek. He breathed out a ragged sigh, knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer, his breath now on the shell of Ace’s ear, and Ace’s breath on his.

“Don’t ever stop,” Ace gasped; Brandon could feel the shudder that coursed through the other man’s body as he came, hot spurts milked out of his body and onto Ace’s chest, his stomach, the few drops landing on Brandon’s heated skin like a lifesaving downpour after an endless drought. He knew Ace meant those words in more ways than one.

“I won’t,” he whispered quickly as he pulled away, only inches enough to look into Ace’s eyes, wild and euphoric, mouth open and panting as he rode out the aftershocks. The sight alone brought Brandon over the edge; without so much as a warning from his body he felt himself unravel, his cock jerking inside of Ace, filling the condom as he struggled to keep the visual connection with Ace’s face. That beloved look, the one of trembling satisfaction and so much joy he didn’t even know what to do with himself…that was a face Brandon was dying to see more of.

He didn’t want to pull away, not yet, not when his mind was still racing over all these stimuli and his dick was still hard and shocked at all that sensation, not when he just found out how sex with Ace was a pleasure off any measurable scale known to man. His body felt weak and exercised like he had run a marathon, the muscles in his pumping legs and the arms holding him up were leaden weights all of a sudden; he would give in to the exhausted feeling but it meant he would have to stop looking into Ace’s eyes and he didn’t think anything could pull him away from that.

They laid like that for what felt like an eternity though Brandon guessed it couldn’t have been over a minute; either way it would never have been enough time. The humid air of the night was hellish and their activities heated the room like an oven but neither man cared; Ace reached over to wipe the beads of sweat along Brandon’s hairline, then replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing the moist, salted flesh until he reached Brandon’s mouth to politely slip his tongue inside.

With a reluctant shiver Brandon slid out of Ace with both men feeling the loss, but then strong arms wrapped around Brandon’s chest to replace Ace’s flexible legs, holding Brandon against his muscular frame, refusing to lose so much of that physical connection. He sighed into the older man’s ear, a million words on the tip of his tongue about how he had never felt so strongly about anyone, anything in his life before he had Brandon inside him. How he never loved before because he always questioned it but he never questioned anything about their relationship, only a soft sheer layer of disbelief that his much happiness could even be real.

“I think I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” was what came out instead, and with any other man he would have blushed at the off-the-cuff comment but he knew somehow that Brandon would never judge that, would never judge him, and so he could say it with a smile on his face.

“Guess I should’ve let up a little,” Brandon’s tone was apologetic but he said it with a laugh, absolutely nothing ruining his post-orgasm high. He could decipher the levity in Ace’s voice and the mood was happily light with no feelings of awkwardness between them...everything Brandon had hoped it would be.

“No, no,” Ace protested, bright smile widening ever more as he could feel the chuckle run through Brandon’s body. They were hot, sweaty, covered in more body fluids than were comfortable in that apartment with no air conditioning, but he wouldn’t dare move. “I asked for it, besides it’s a good kind of sore, anyway.” He stretched his muscles, feeling the strain that would turn sour by the morning, and sighed contentedly at the process by which his body got to that condition. “I just think I might break right now.”

Brandon got surprisingly quiet, the playful grin on his face tapering off into a peaceful smile that quieted every molecule of Ace’s body. There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings stirred in his heart by Ace he never thought existed within him…feelings he couldn’t now bear to live without. It wasn’t just about the sex; it was being with his man in every way possible, making him feel happy and whole in a way that only Brandon could; in feeling that connection that could last a lifetime if they let it.

“I won’t let you break,” his voice was whisper soft; he placed a tender kiss against Ace’s temple, breathing in the aura of him as they settled down for sleep, two grown men squashed uncomfortably on a mattress though their tired tangled limbs didn’t mind at all. “Never.”

***

          _May 2008_

He wanted to scream. Or curl up into a ball and cry. He knew he didn’t have the time to do either.

Brandon’s blood felt like chilled ice through his veins, freezing him and rooting him to the spot. The messages from Daughtry kept playing on the answering machine, strings of curses and thinly-veiled frustration from a man hardly affected this way by anything, but Brandon couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t hold just one finger out to stop the machine. There was a tiny part of him that believed, held out hope, that the next message would be Ace himself his voice full of happiness and laughter like Brandon always knew it to be, telling him it was all a vicious prank or some misunderstanding they could all laugh about later, and that he’d be coming home to him soon.

He had to hold out for that message because it never came.

Daughtry was terrifyingly vague on the details and said nothing new in subsequent messages; all Brandon knew was that there was an accident, Ace was in St Vincent’s hospital just a few minutes uptown, and that he had never come home from his daily run along the West Side this morning. He tried not to imagine the worst, not Ace, not the love of his life, but if it had been something incidental or even a broken bone Ace would have informed Brandon himself, or at least given Daughtry the number to Brandon’s cell phone. The messages were so chilling because they meant Ace couldn’t reach him, a man who would move heaven and earth to get to him if he could.

“No,” his voice sounded foreign even to his own ears; another man in this position, not him, not Ace. The possibilities were swarming in his head and taking effect, and he couldn’t bear to think of any one of them. His hand went to his mouth, palm covering over the flesh there, as his eyes began to mist with tears. “Oh God, please, no.”

His whole body was trembling, threatening to shut down and give in to the terrible thoughts and emotions running through his mind. Ace, _his_ Ace, was in trouble and he had no idea what from; the thought alone made him want to run, flee from the danger of reality until he could go to the place where Ace was safe, healthy and in love with him again. He didn’t dare try to dwell on what might have happened, what condition Ace might be in, or he might begin to sob and never stop.

But he shook the thoughts quickly away, the hand at his mouth balling into a fist, short but effective fingernails digging into the palm to put his mind into some other sensation than the crippling fear he felt. He might have wanted to close his eyes and pretend that none of this was really happening, that he could live in the world he and Ace shared that morning over juice and coffee, but it wouldn’t change reality and it would do no one any good, particularly Ace. Crying would only leave him exhausted and feeling helpless; wishing the tragedy away would be a waste of wishes.

He had to be strong for Ace, or neither of them would make it through the day.

Cementing his resolve with a deep, shuddering breath, Brandon calmed his frightened nerves into shock, refusing to allow the fear to surface and overwhelm him. There was nothing he could do to change fate and undo what had been done; he couldn’t erase the messages from ever arriving or stop Ace from whatever dangers had lurked on his morning run. The only thing he could do now was to be there for Ace, to let him know that he loved him and would stay by his side through anything that may pass.

The paralyzing cold in his body that had frozen him to the spot before had worn off to a deep numbness, and in a few seconds Brandon let go of any emotion he had been showing on his face and in his bones, knowing he’d be useless with them on his sleeve. Anyone watching him as he quickly gathered important items – Ace’s insurance information, his birth certificate they kept in a locked box underneath the bed – would have thought him cold and emotionless, but Brandon was quite the opposite; if he let a fraction of the fear he was feeling show, he would break down, and then he’d never be able to get to Ace.

Rushing out the door with the few essentials he had in his hand and everything Ace might need for his medical care, Brandon took one last look at the apartment they shared, the apartment that was wholly theirs, a direct sightline into the bedroom and the well-kept suit he hadn’t dared touch or move from its place. With a flip of a switch he turned the lights off, the rooms turning dim and gray, sunlight blocked out by shuttered blinds; the suit was now barely discernable from the bedspread, but Brandon still knew it was there, he couldn’t wish its significance out of existence.

In a miraculous turn of events Brandon found a taxi to take him to the hospital almost immediately after stepping out of the TriBeCa building. Cabs were easy to find in the area but he was certain they’d be hesitant to pick up a young black man who was visibly distressed and in a hurry, regardless of neighborhood. But his cabbie was thankfully sympathetic, and the moment he heard Brandon’s destination coupled with the wavering tone in his voice – the first words he spoke after hearing those messages, the words that would take him to whatever fate lay in store for their relationship, he knew this was not a trip for pleasure.

The streets whizzed past Brandon’s window as the cab weaved in and out of traffic, blocks and neighborhoods where every square inch held a memory of their relationship, a corner or a story that was of no real significance but was a small snapshot of the millions that made up Brandon and Ace and their love for one another. He was too shocked still to even attempt to close his eyes to the sight, his body tense as a razor’s edge as the taxi drove up Greenwich Avenue, the hospital slowly coming into sight amidst high-rise condo buildings and classic brownstones built around it.

As the cab pulled up to the large bay at the emergency room entrance, surrounded by idling ambulances and nurses on their cigarette break, Brandon let loose one last sob, the tension and worry that had been building up broken down into one hot tear slipping from his eye down his cheek. He could be strong for Ace once he paid the cabbie and got out of the car, but he had to release some of that fear or it would rot him from the inside out. The only thought passing through his mind as he emerged from the taxi burned at his gut, forced him to remember the promises he had made to Ace and the one promise he hadn’t.

 _Oh God,_ he thought. _I let him break._


	4. Chapter 4

          _September 2001_

The first tower had just collapsed, pancaked underneath its own weight, and Brandon didn’t even know yet that anything was wrong.

The atmosphere was a desperate pandemonium downtown but Brandon had just emerged on the Upper East Side from the subway to a relatively calm Lexington Avenue, especially considering the circumstances only 100 blocks south of there. He had been nervous the entire commute but he attributed it to his impending job interview, for a fledgling radio station for the new and unstable satellite radio craze. It wasn’t a sure thing but it would be a decent and steady paycheck, and he was well past sick of waiting tables with his Communications degree. This interview, he thought, could be the first step to a new job, a career, and a whole new direction of his life.

He hadn’t even heard of an attack until he saw the uninterrupted newscast on a television display outside of Best Buy, a small crowd forming around the window who were not interested in the clarity of the flat-screen picture but what that picture was showing. It was the only change in the docile environment of the morning; that, and the resignation of the newspaper buskers hawking copies of the _Times_ and the _Post_ , already knowing whatever news they had to sell about the world was obsolete.

It came on as a shock to him as he passed the window and the crowd, one woman holding her breath as she cried while another was asking brutally if this was going to affect her commute back to Brooklyn. A slow, sinking realization but a numb one, Brandon had to train his mind to accept what he was seeing as cold hard fact and not the newest trailer for some blockbuster disaster movie.

His brain made a quick mental checklist of his friends and their routine locations on a dull Tuesday morning, nerves rising and falling like breathing in and out, like skyscrapers erected and torn down. Blake lived well north of the Financial District and rarely woke up before noon if he could help it. Amanda could have decided to go on an early shopping trip to Century 21…but no, she was saving her money this month for a casting call in Los Angeles. Hell, even that might be canceled now, who knew if Amanda would ever want to fly again after this. He started absently thinking of Ace’s friend Chris Daughtry and wondering if police precincts from all over the city would be responding or if he would be spared, as he crossed Park Avenue, still determined to make it to his interview…

Ace. Oh God, where was _Ace?_

Brandon stopped so abruptly in the street a bicycle messenger had to swerve at the last moment to avoid colliding with the young man. It was completely irrational to worry; Ace’s classes were all held on the Upper West Side and his internship at the law firm was nestled snugly into a high-rise in the East 30s, both miles away from any danger. But Brandon couldn’t remember if Ace was in either location that day, or he could have been sent of an errand to the tragically busy financial center of the city; there were far too many possibilities and Brandon didn’t like any of them.

He started back again on his way to the radio station at a faster pace this time and fully intending to pop his head in, tell them that because of the circumstances of the morning he simply couldn’t focus on giving a dazzling interview, not when his boyfriend was out somewhere in the city and he didn’t know if he was safe or not. He flipped open his cell phone, quickly calling Ace on speed dial; they had only been dating for a few months but that was all it had taken for Brandon to fall hard and fast for Ace, their conversations and confessions to one another nearly as stimulating as the sex they had. He hadn’t considered recently how his life had begun to change now that he was with Ace, how the colors of the world were brighter, the air more invigorating and vibrant now that he realized he had given his heart to the younger man.

The phone in his hand made no buzz, no ring, no indication that it was attempting to contact the man Brandon so desperately needed to know was safe. He glanced down at the screen; no signal on his phone, or Ace’s, or on anyone’s cell phone in the city. No one ever realized how dependent they were on modern technology until it was torn away from them. He wondered if Ace was somewhere in the city making the same frantic calls to contact Brandon and finding his efforts fruitless.

Brandon found himself able to function but his mind was like a skeleton crew, handling the menial tasks of walking, making quick and polite conversation and standing upright, but all his thoughts were on Ace and figuring out some way to reach the other man. His interview was reasonably postponed, the director of the marketing department himself distanced from the farce of business as usual and glancing away every few seconds at the live feed on the television. Nearly every set he passed Brandon could hear the same newscast and the shocked, numb voices of the anchors as they announced the second tower had just collapsed. The receptionist at the front desk, also outfitted with a small but able television set, had grown bored of the newscast and was trying to find a decent signal for MTV.

“I completely understand,” Brandon answered to the director, the thought of reliving the tension of readying for this interview dwarfed by the amount of nerve he had to muster to ask the next question. “Just one last thing.” He pointed to the multi-line phone sitting atop the oak desk, attached to a solid, tangible land line most likely unaffected by the nation’s tallest cell phone antenna falling down. “Can I make a phone call?”

He dialed Ace’s dorm room; Elliott answered, and although it was nice to know the other man was safe and sound on the Upper West Side it wasn’t Brandon’s main objective. Elliott told him it was one of Ace’s scheduled days at his internship at the law firm, which was promising for the younger man’s well-being on this frantic day. But a quick call to the firm dashed those hopes: Ace hadn’t come in today, at least no one had seen him and he hadn’t punched in, and with the news of the day no one seemed to have noticed. He thought briefly about calling Information for the number to the Young house in Denver to see if he had told his parents of his whereabouts, but the receptionist had begun to look in on Brandon in the glass-walled officer where the director left him to make the calls, and he doubted he could use the station’s sympathies and generosity to call long-distance to Colorado.

Ace wasn’t at his house; he wasn’t at work, either. Any other day in their lives Brandon would have probably left it at that but not this day, not when news reporters couldn’t stop themselves from openly weeping at the scene of a news story or when the cloudless blue sky was silent and empty for the first time in Brandon’s life, the entire country turned into an instant no-fly zone. Brandon wanted to run around the entire island of Manhattan to find his boyfriend, to now that Ace was safe, but apart from his routine haunts on a Tuesday morning the older man didn’t know where to start. He wasn’t even sure how easy it would be to get around the city at this point; he had no trouble on the train going uptown but below Central Park must have been an entirely different story.

He’d walk the length of the island and back if he had to; he had to fine Ace and make sure he was alright.

By wonder of all wonders the trains were making their way as far downtown as they could manage; the subway cars screeched to a halt at 14th Street and an informal announcement form the conductor told the passengers no one was being allowed south of that point. Brandon decided on the way down, his conscious resolve forcing his easily panicked mind to look at the situation logically, that it would do no good to anyone for him to run all around the city like a tourist on speed with no real plan of action to find Ace. His cell phone was at the moment a ridiculously expensive address book and paperweight; he needed to get home to his land line telephone and double, triple check on the places Ace might have gone instead of work. He bit his lip harshly at the dangerous thought that some of those places were in that now perilous area south of Wall Street.

The walk wasn’t a long one but it gave time for Brandon to think, to focus his mind more on positive details and not the dire possibilities of where his boyfriend could be. It had only been two months since the couple started dating but it felt like it had been a lifetime; Brandon felt closer to Ace now than he had with other boyfriends he dated three times as long, the duration of their relationship insignificant next to its quality. He cared for Ace more than he thought he would be capable of; he felt choked up even at the slightest glimmer of trouble. But he was worried he was feeling too much, too fast; this was Ace’s first real relationship with another man, and if Brandon wore all his emotions on his sleeve he feared it would scare the other man off, and that was a risk not easily taken.

He rounded the corner to his apartment building, and realized he needn’t have worried.

Crouched on the front stoop to Brandon’s apartment building, eyes darting up and down the street for any small semblance of the older man, hands running through his chestnut hair and smoothing it down to his scalp at every second, a habit Brandon noticed he had whenever he was nervous. His green eyes met Brandon’s and that nervousness, that tension flooded away and was washed over with a look of sheer relief and affection. Brandon saw his lips, the ones he always longed to kiss and feel all over his body, mouth Brandon’s name and widen into a smile as he rose from his position and rushed over to his boyfriend.

“Oh God, Ace,” Brandon whispered as the familiar strong arms wrapped around his chest, palms flat on his back and pulling him close into Ace’s embrace. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to know that these arms were solid and whole and _safe_ ; to know that whatever new and frightening world they might all face the next morning, it would be manageable so long as this man was by his side.

“Thank God,” Ace’s voice was choked up and strained like nothing Brandon had heard from him before; it was new, raw and terrible, and he made a promise to himself to do everything in his power to make sure Ace never felt sad or desperate like this again. The younger man buried his face in Brandon’s hair, a hand rising up to cradle the head, to touch every part of him sidewalk decorum would allow. He had to know that this man was here, safe in his arms, that the whole morning wasn’t some horrible nightmare from which he needed to wake up.

Brandon couldn’t stop touching, feeling, breathing in the scent of Ace; he hadn’t realized just how worried he had been over everything until this moment when he felt so relieved he could cry. “You weren’t at home, you weren’t at work,” he said, muffled into Ace’s shoulder, feeling the other man’s breath move in and out of his body and wondered how he ever lived without knowing that feeling. “I couldn’t reach you…damn it, I was about the run all over the city looking for you…”

“I was right here,” replied Ace. A fire engine zoomed past them, horns blazing, and the acrid smell of the smoke like burning office paper started to waft northward towards them, but they paid attention to none of it, not right now. “The moment I heard, I came here. Thought your interview would be canceled for certain, and you’d show up here eventually…”

“Goddamn you for thinking logically,” laughed Brandon, his cheek pressed against the flesh at Ace’s neck, his body pressing as close as physics could muster.

“I was so scared,” Ace said, his voice wavering at the admission.

“Me, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The words came quickly and easily like a quick-dealt pack of cards, except all the cards were given face-up and both players ended up a winner. They hadn’t even noticed they had said it, revealed their true feelings until after it had been said, the words Brandon had been thinking and Ace had been hoping for quite some time. It took the tragedy of the day, the pain of ignorance and the panicked tension of being apart for all of it to push those words to the surface, to boldly usher their relationship over that threshold and into a place deeper, closer and more beautiful than either man could imagine.

Ace pulled away only far enough to look into Brandon’s eyes, the dark and expressive brown he was sure he never really lived without. He still held him close, refusing to let go; the two men took each other in, watching on each other’s faces the way those words reverberated in their heads. He saw the naked truth in Brandon’s eyes, as he felt a hand run up to his hairline and brush a stray lock of hair away from his face; he saw the power and the gravity of those words spoken, that Brandon had meant every syllable, and that he would mean them forevermore.

“I love you,” Ace said again, his voice with more purpose and resolve than before; the first time had come from natural instinct, and perhaps he had always felt that he loved Brandon and his subconscious simply hadn’t gotten himself to agree with saying the words yet, but now that he had he never wanted to stop.

Brandon’s hand trailed down Ace’s cheek, outlining the jawline, seeing unabashed sincerity and affection in Ace’s eyes. Leave it to his life for the most important words he had ever spoken so far to be on the most tragic and tumultuous days in New York history. “I love you, too,” he breathed out; he wanted to say it a million times more, but he knew as he pulled Ace in for a kiss that his lover only needed to hear it the once to believe it.

***

          _May 2008_

Daughtry met him at the entrance to the emergency room as soon as the taxi pulled up, like a drag racer waiting for the green light, a sprinter awaiting the shot of the starting gun. He wouldn’t have called it a greeting, far from it; both men knew this situation was too serious for pleasantries.

“Where is he?” were the first words out of Brandon’s mouth, hoarse and pained but steady; Daughtry was surprised to hear that kind of tone from the man.

“Inside.” Daughtry’s voice was gruff and clipped, large forehead furrowing into a bemused scowl. The shock that had first hit the officer that caused his disorderly barrage of curses at Brandon’s answering machine had worn off in the time he had been waiting for the other man to arrive. By now, his temper had simmered to a police officer’s glare, a permanent feature on older veterans of the force that helped distance them from the tragedy or emotion a crime scene might hold. He had only been on the force for less than a decade, but he already knew that too much emotion could cost an officer his life.

But that was his _best friend_ in there, and he’d be damned if he didn’t show a little emotion this time.

“They won’t tell me a damn thing,” said Daughtry as they headed towards the ER entrance, too focused on giving Brandon all the necessary information to notice the other man’s nervous, clenched fists. “Not that I blame them, they don’t know me from Adam and the badge’ll only get so much info out of them.” He looked over to Brandon, who was eerily silent; he wouldn’t have wished this on anyone, but especially them. “Hopefully you’ll have more luck than I did.”

Brandon said nothing in response; it was taking all of his energy not to break down, to face the ominous glass doors of the ER and all that might lie within. “What happened?” he asked, steeling himself for the worse.

For a hard-edge, no-nonsense cop, Daughtry was uncharacteristically chatty. “I’ve got a friend at the Manhattan 2-3,” he started; not the neighborhood precinct, where Brandon and Ace got to know the local officers well enough through routine patrols and fundraisers. That was the precinct south of them, closer to the Financial district and the water; the one where Ace took his morning run every day. “Name of Covington; good guy, honest…played poker with Ace a few times at my house so he recognized him and called me right away.”

Daughtry had been off-duty at the time, and when he had gotten the courtesy call from Covington he moved as fast as he could through Manhattan without his horse, making a direct beeline to St. Vincent’s to know the extent of Ace’s condition – the details Covington couldn’t divulge on the phone. But he knew that Ace was alive when he was taken from the scene, and that was always a promising start.

Brandon, however, was not interested in whether or not Daughtry and the responding officer had high tea every Thursday or not; he just had to know about Ace, needed to know anything the other man knew. “But what -“

“He sustained a few injuries,” said Daughtry, his eyes sympathetic towards the older man. For any other victim, Daughtry could list off the injuries and damages to family members like a grocery list; but he knew Brandon too well, knew Ace, and it was no easy task to be direct about giving this news to a man’s love. “Covington said he wasn’t conscious when they packed him up for transport but the paramedics said –“

“ _Please_ ,” came Brandon’s plea, a frustrated and anguished tone, stunning Daughtry’s flow of words about information he already divulged. If Daughtry was beating around the bush to somehow dampen the blow for Brandon it wasn’t working; his words dancing around the subject, turning on spins and angles, were making Brandon dizzy with details about everything except what he truly wanted to know.

Daughtry looked at him with a sadness in his eyes; he wished he didn’t have to tell him, wanted there to be another way. “Brandon, there was a bus.”

He could see it, his mind blacking out the insanitarium-white walls and corridors of the ER so all he could imagine was the West Side Highway at morning, sun creeping in low through the maze-like stretch of streets and buildings across the width of the island. And there was Ace, toned muscles glistening in that strong orange glow, working up an invigorating sweat underneath his old t-shirt and track pants, his lungs taking in the cool Hudson River air just like he did every morning. Brandon knew how every inch of that highway looked, from the monolithic condo buildings of Battery Park City, up past Stuyvesant High School and to the renovated piers, tailor-made for couples like Ace and Brandon to lie upon the sod overlooking New Jersey and fall in love through the day and night. For once he wished he could unsee it all.

The other man continued with a shaky breath, knowing it was hard for Brandon to hear it far more than it was for him to recite it. “Covington said he…he was waiting at a traffic light near Chambers Street.” Ace was in Brandon’s mind, taking the red light as a quick breather from his routine, pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe at the well-earned beads of sweat at his forehead, revealing a toned torso Brandon’s fingertips had long since memorized. He could have been crossing eastward back to their apartment building, back to the home they had made for themselves to shower, dress himself in that suit that looked so empty now in their bedroom, and go to work so he could come back home to Brandon.

Was that when it happened? When Ace was coming back home? Back to their home?

“Witnesses said the operator of the bus must not have seen him…there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop it.”

Brandon closed his eyes tightly, fighting with every fiber of his being not to see it in his mind but there it was, the M22 that always made wide left turns and would have been harassed by rowdy teenagers on their way to the high school, the operator overworked and tired at the end of his shift and not noticing the young man at the crosswalk waiting patiently for the light to turn…

He begged his mind not to think of the split second before or after, or the horrifying image of Ace’s startled body falling underneath the bus’s tires.

“Please, tell me he’s okay,” his voice sounded strange and distant to his own ears, like he was suddenly drifting underwater and others were speaking right above the surface. “That he’s awake…” A lump formed in his throat and he couldn’t ask the one question on his mind, the one he was dread to speak, if Daughtry knew if Ace was even alive.

The look Daughtry gave him was one beyond pity; the officer had seen scores of victims in the hospital without batting an eye but if it were the love of _his_ life beyond those doors, if his wife or God forbid his kids ever saw the underside of an MTA bus, he wouldn’t even be able to speak. “That’s all I know,” he said sadly, pointing over to the large formica desk at the center of the waiting room. All the information on Ace was in their hands.

St. Vincent’s emergency room was nondescript, the form and style of the old institution covered over with sheet rock and sanitized for hospital standards. Brandon never found many reasons to step inside an emergency room to intimately know the discomfort that came from the naugahyde chairs, or the mundane sound of CNN blaring through the room. This was not the way he wished to be introduced to these surroundings. The room was crowded even for a Friday afternoon, with incoming patients with minor wounds and illnesses waiting for their names to be called, all those who could easily walk into the emergency room and didn’t have to be carried in.

Brandon looked over at the nurses’ station, a constant buzz of activity surrounding the rounded desk though there were no patients or family members awaiting admittance or information beside it. At least a half dozen staff members in scrubs flitted around the room like paper moths, breezing out to the ambulance docks, off into the swinging doors to the operating rooms past frantic prying visitors’ eyes, eventually back to the home base to tackle the mountains of paperwork that came with every patient, every emergency. Brandon stood transfixed on the sight, wondering if any of those sets of scrubs was rushing back to the operating room for Ace, for his Ace.

There was one figure at the desk that remained more of less at the helm of the ER operations, a stout woman with dark hair tied behind her ears, with most of the staff paying reverence to her as she held court in the room. She had a deep air of experience about her, as if any malady that came through those doors she had seen and treated dozens of times before; but her eyes were hard and weary, the long shifts and endless complaints and claims easily taking their toll. Brandon made a beeline for the desk, towards the woman who appeared to have all the answers of the hospital at her fingertips, noting a happier, idealistic smile on the nurse’s old ID photo and the name of Lakisha Jones.

“Name and insurance provider,” she droned out without looking up, the years as head nurse in an emergency room teaching her well that these pieces of information were more important than the state of one’s well-being. She picked up a free clipboard and passed it over to Brandon absently; for her it was just another routine check-in but for Brandon it was a situation so dire it could change his life, both of their lives. “Fill this out and take a seat, someone will be with you shortly –“

“I’m not –“ Brandon blurted out before his emotions stopped him; he wasn’t the one who needed help, he wasn’t the one dying. He gripped the papers in his hand to stop them from shaking. “I’m here to see someone, he came in before.” Brandon took a deep breath, not sure if he was even ready for the answer.

“Name?” she asked again, this time busying herself at the station’s computer, awaiting the patient’s name from Brandon’s mouth.

“Brett Young,” he replied, using the given name Ace never used or particularly liked, preferring instead to be called by his middle name, his grandfather’s name. Brandon had always admired that tribute Ace gave to the old man he had never met but shared his name, the strict loyalty to family, the love.

It was the name that made the woman look up; just with her eyes, her head still turned towards the computer as her manicured fingers seemed to type of their own accord. She looked over at Brandon, scrutinizing him up and down, noting the young officer Daughtry beside him and slightly behind. She had been asked about Brett Young’s condition before.

“And are you the parents?” she raised an eyebrow as she glanced over at the computer screen once more; Daughtry’s hair lifted on the back of his neck over the injustice, but Brandon kept himself level, emotionless. This woman had all the answers about Ace that he needed to know, he wasn’t going to get on her bad side.

Shaking his head, he replied with a voice smaller than before. “I’m his boyfriend,” he said, for lack of a better term. Their love had been defined at many different steps of their relationship, from the first time Ace introduced Brandon to his coworkers without any hesitation or fear, to the question Ace pressed that morning that still hung in the air like a stale fragrance in an empty room. Brandon never liked the term boyfriends past their third year together; it had felt too weak of a term, a name placed on some minor flirtation and the moniker he had given to previous men who now meant nothing in the face of Ace Young. “Partners” always brought up confusion around Ace’s professional friends and colleagues; “life partners,” Brandon joked, sounded like a prison sentence. And he had never been quite sure of the term Ace brought up that morning.

The optimist in him liked to believe it was enough to call Ace by the title of the man that would hold his heart forever. Nurse Jones needed something a little more concrete than that.

She sighed heavily; she did not want to break the news to this man, she’d done it far too many times for way too many people. She was getting too old for this, and she hadn’t even yet reached thirty. “I can’t release information about a patient to any unauthorized visitors,” she said. “You’ll have to wait for family to arrive.”

Brandon’s mouth went dry as his eyes filled up with tears; homeostasis of crisis. All of Ace’s family was in Colorado, normally only a phone call and two time zones away but now they couldn’t have ever been close enough. Even if he called the Youngs now, even if they miraculously found a flight leaving at that moment for New York, it would still be hours until they could arrive at the hospital, hours of agonizing wait and silence Brandon didn’t think he could bear.

A hand shot out onto the desk; Daughtry’s hand from behind Brandon, taking a firm stand when he saw Brandon was in no emotional condition to do so himself. He had been told all of this before – he wondered how many times in Nurse Jones’s career she had to hand out this unwelcome information – and he had taken it with a clenched jaw, knowing that a best friend had no legal right to privileged medical information. But now that Brandon was on the scene, everything should change. “What about proxy status?” he asked; he would have tapped on the nurse’s monitor testily but he knew it wouldn’t do him any favors. “Doesn’t it have that down somewhere in your records?”

“The only names I have here,” she took a hard line to the officer; cop or no, she didn’t like to be told how to do her job. “Are Jay and Kay Young. Unless you’ve got some official inquiries, _officer_.”

Daughtry sneered but said nothing; he didn’t want to bring the badge into this, he had done so earlier in a rash attempt to use police bravado to get some information but the nurse wasn’t impressed. He looked over at Brandon, startled to see the pained expression of shock on the other man’s face.

The healthcare proxy form…those damn forms, Brandon thought, as he closed his eyes and sighed deeply to keep himself from sobbing. They had the forms all right, the documents that gave each other precedence when medical emergencies arose, when they would be able to make the decisions for one another’s care instead of deferring to Ace’s faraway family or Brandon’s estranged one. They had always meant to file them with the insurance companies, ever since a wayward physical result was sent to Denver instead of the Upper West Side and reminded Ace he hadn’t changed his contact information from college, when his parents held that power and before Brandon was even a thought in his mind. Brandon could almost see the forms in the apartment, completed but never notarized or filed for silly reasons, within the piles of papers and junk mail on the desk or stashed away somewhere with old photographs and tax returns. They had never been high on the couple’s long list of priorities and it was simply one of those things that never got done, like balancing a debit account or writing the great American novel.

Now, Brandon realized with horror, they were the most important and vital documents in the world, and he didn’t even know where they actually were in the house.

“You never –“ Daughtry questioned, anger momentarily displaced onto Ace and Brandon and their foolish relaxed ways.

“We meant to,” he never sounded more broken, helpless; all the intentions in the world weren’t going to get Brandon’s name on the register, wouldn’t grant him the vital information about his lover he was aching for.

Craning his neck conspicuously to look behind the two men, the nurse was halfway towards beckoning for the next person in line when Brandon’s attentions came away from himself and towards her and the task at hand. “Please,” he was nearly begging now, knowing full well he had no leg to stand on but trying anyway, hoping against hope the nurse would show some pity on him and tell him something, anything. “I need to know how he is.” His voice came down to a whisper, he didn’t dare ask at a higher volume or he would break, too scare of the answer. “Can you at least tell me if he’s alive?” He looked pathetic and he knew it – the nurse definitely knew it – but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him was Ace, and knowing if he was alright.

The nurse looked him over once more; she wished she could grant at least that to him, it was obvious the man was hurting, but there were medical ethics clauses a mile long on the reasons why she couldn’t. Sometimes she wished there weren’t such harsh rules to follow, but she wasn’t going to be the one to let one rule slide and find herself out of a job over it. She worked too hard to get where the was, too many night shifts and weekends on end of not being able to tuck her daughter into bed to throw it away on one act of compassion.

“Are you a family member?” she asked again, pronouncing each syllable, the words like hammers barreling down in Brandon’s mind. Brandon knew the legal answer, the answer displayed in block letters on that computer monitor, the answer the nurse already knew. But it wasn’t the answer in his heart, the emotions nestled there telling him, screaming at him that Ace was his family, the one man he cared for more than anyone else in the world. And now that man was in danger, more than Brandon could ever know, and he couldn’t reach him, get to him when he needed it the most.

“He’s the love of my life,” he said with a shaky voice, pleading.

The nurse clucked her tongue, signaling that their little circular conversation was over. She didn’t have time to argue legalities with the man, and she had real patients to care for. “That’s not good enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon’s experience on September 11 is a mix of a few people I’ve known, particularly an old co-worker of mine who had her job interview on the date and came out of the subway station wondering why everyone was walking over the Queensborough bridge. It was a surreal experience being in New York on that day, and for a lot of people the impact didn’t really sink in until hours later (I, the dumb high school student for instance, had decided to go shopping before coming home from school, and my parents pitched a fit about it.)
> 
> Cell phones, for the most part, stopped working in NYC once the towers fell, since one of the towers was used as the main cell phone reception tower for basically every provider. When I was in high school only the most elite kids had cell phones, but when they first heard the news they took them out only to find them useless. All the broadcast channels also broadcast from the towers except for one – CBS, which broadcasts out of the Empire State Building – so for over a week all I, as well as Brandon who wouldn’t have cable at the time, only watched Channel 2 News (also known as Ernie Anastos kicking journalist butt, haha).
> 
> When the city government was able to make some sense of what happened, they put access restrictions on large parts of the city. For a few days no non-resident could come into Manhattan at all, and no one was allowed below 14th street. Although this derailed Brandon’s plans to look for Ace all over the city, his apartment in Chelsea would have been well above the designated marker.
> 
> I fudged a little with the names of the Manhattan precincts: the 2-3 does not have jurisdiction in the Financial District, that happens to be the 1st Precinct, but “2-3” sounded cooler, lol.
> 
> Ace likes to jog along [Hudon River Park](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hudson_River_Park), a long stretch of park being developed by the city. It gets kind of dodgy at Midtown but around Brace’s neighborhood the area is clean, new and frequented by many runners, dog walkers, and bikers. Some old piers have been refurbished as public spaces, with grass and/or Astroturf, dog parks, and powerful lights to keep it safe at night. Overlooking the Hudson River, it’s a very romantic and scenic place that the boys would often visit. Interestingly enough, Ace’s accident happens only a few blocks away from where the World Trade Center attacks occurred earlier in the chapter.
> 
> [St. Vincent’s Hospital](http://www.svcmc.org/body.cfm?id=32) also has ties to September 11: as a level 1 trauma center it was the principal hospital used during the attacks to bring the injured.
> 
> And what happens to Brandon and Ace is the reality a lot of couples all over the country: although I exaggerate it a bit here, legally only family and those designated through healthcare proxies can find out information about someone’s medical condition without the patient’s consent. There’ll be more on this in chapter 7, so don't worry if the legalities aren't all hashed out yet!


	5. Chapter 5

          _December 2001_

Brandon loved Ace, really he did, but if he didn’t stop talking about Christmas and how much fun he’d be having without his boyfriend, Brandon was going to smother him with a pillow.

Ace’s flight wasn’t for a few days but the packing was already underway, the good people of Columbia University cheerfully kicking their students out of the dorms right after their final exams. Elliott had already left for Chanukah two days ago, and it was only Ace and Brandon left in the room, Ace happily tossing pairs of Hanes briefs into his duffel bag while Brandon watched, kept him company, and supervised.

“Every year it’s a battle between my mom and my dad,” he continued, smile on his face bright as Christmas lights as he looked over to the older man spread out on the bed. “Mom’s all about tradition; Dad, very much not. She cooks a goose and decorates with holly, the whole nine yards…my dad would prefer deep frying a turkey in the driveway and setting up an inflatable Santa Claus on the lawn.” His eyes lit up at the memories. “One year, they cooked both – my brothers and I didn’t really have any preference, we don’t care so long as there’s food and lots of it.”

“Sounds nice,” Brandon replied cordially, his response identical to the four dozen other times he had said that afternoon about something out of Ace’s nostalgic snowglobe memories of Christmas at the Young house. It was fun to see his boyfriend so excited about something, an event it was obvious he was passionate about, but every moment Ace reminded him he was leaving New York for the snowy peaks of Denver, Brandon remembered that he was also leaving his loving boyfriend behind.

“Any my brothers – oh God!” Ace threw his head back and laughed; Brandon, having never met Ace’s many older brothers all scattered along the Western part of the continent, wasn’t in on the joke, but he was enjoying the way Ace beamed when he laughed, standard dorm issue lamp in the corner casting fluorescent shadows and highlights in Ace’s hair, accenting the bliss in his smile. “Josh couldn’t come this year, Renee’s come down with chicken pox so they’re all staying in Boulder this year. And Marc is spending it with his in-laws, which is a shame, he’s the only brother I can out-drink with eggnog.”

 _Well, at least the Youngs don’t seem to have a wholesomer-than-God game of family touch football,_ Brandon thought to himself, hand propped up on an elbow as he disguised a roll of his eyes with a yawn.

It was then that Ace’s nostalgia kicked into full gear. “Half the time the ground’s too snowy for any decent football, but it’s supposed to be a warm one this year –“ he looked over towards his boyfriend, assuming the chuckle from Brandon’s lips was over his exuberance for the vacation. Ace’s family and their myriad of traditions were very close to the young man’s heart, particularly Christmas, when the large family came together form seemingly all over the globe to celebrate and find peace with one another. Now each of his brothers, one by one, were making families of their own, and Ace was spending less time flying home for vacations and more time in New York with Brandon; that family dynamic was waning, but for at least this Christmas it would still be there, Ace was sure of it.

Brandon almost couldn’t take how happy Ace seemed to be to leave his boyfriend in New York, most probably to a Christmas spent once again as fifth wheel to a friend’s Christmas party or alone among a festive city full of others with no family to be flying home to. Brandon used to have the holiday traditions, remembered the deep spices of his mother’s ham and ushering his grandmother into the pew by the elbow for Christmas services. Five years separated, gone, and he hardly missed it, each tradition his family held feeling empty and soulless now, but hearing about Ace’s family – whole, and imperfect, but loving and ideal to Brandon – it wasn’t helping the fact that he couldn’t be with the one person he’d like to spend Christmas with.

He thought, maybe this year he wouldn’t be sitting around his apartment in his bathrobe, watching the dated Yule Log on Channel 11 and pretending to be having a happy holiday.

“You’re going to have a really great time,” he said, a bit half-heartedly, though he doubted with Ace’s optimism running on high that he would notice. He sincerely hoped the younger man wouldn’t be like this the whole time before his flight, when he was staying in near-bliss in Brandon’s apartment. He didn’t know if he’d be able to take that many days’ worth of storied tales of fuzzy sweaters and repeated viewings of A Christmas Story, without being able to make his own Christmas memories with Ace.

With his eyes closed and to the ceiling Brandon didn’t see the smile spread across Ace’s face, different form the one he had on all afternoon. The one, Brandon learned quickly, that was always reserved for him. “We will,” Ace replied softly.

It was the one phrase that afternoon Brandon hadn’t heard, his mind too busy wondering if it was even worth it to go to a movie this December 25 or to stay in until absolute boredom sent him out to the bars. Ace noticed his non-response and quirked his mouth to the side in a frown; perhaps he just needed to put a little more emphasis on the “we”.

He ambled over as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb Brandon as he still lay unassuming on the bed, waiting for the next excited wave of Young family traditions. Before Brandon could lift his head Ace had reached him in the corner of the room, swinging one leg over his boyfriend’s frame and playfully hoisting himself up on the bed, straddling him. Brandon was startled by the sudden gleam of happiness he saw in the deep green eyes above him, the open-mouthed smile that shone through Ace’s entire body, past his eyes to the tips of his ears. Ace’s presence above him, hips daringly pressed against Brandon’s stomach and his gaze both mischievous and affectionate, was startling, yes, but not a bit unwelcome.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Ace accused playfully, prodding a finger out to poke in the center of Brandon’s chest. The older man had to gather his bearings at the first poke of Ace’s flesh against his t-shirt, but by the second he caught on to the playful little game and snatched up the finger in his fist, a smirk on his lips both devilish and delicious to Ace. Brandon nodded, but hadn’t quite heard what his boyfriend had said, expecting that it was some little mention about Christmas cookies or whether his flight was out of Kennedy or LaGuardia. Ace frowned; obviously it was more important than that.

Slowly the words that had been said focused in Brandon’s mind amid all the rest of his boyfriend’s ramblings of the day, as Ace leaned down, face inching closer to Brandon’s, curious smile on his lips watching the realization dawn in Brandon’s eyes. “Wait,” he said, forehead creased in confusion; Ace was a master of pronouns and his instincts as a litigator-to-be made him never misspeak. “Did you just –“

“I changed the ticket my parents gave me,” started Ace, voice softer and lower than before; this was only something they two had to know, a secret they could share from the rest of the world. “And I made it into two tickets.”

Brandon’s eyes widened along with his smile. “You didn’t –“

Ace leaned in closer, stubble grazing against the shell of Brandon’s ear, unable to hide his glee over being able to share his family joy and comfort with the man he loved. “You didn’t think I’d let you waste away here in New York?” He asked, shivering with pleasure as Brandon took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the younger man’s frame. “All alone with a roast turkey Hot Pocket…” Brandon had to laugh at the imagined visual of himself; for the past five years the details varied but the story was the same, Brandon alone and mostly lonely on Christmas. “My mom’s dying to meet you and find all your flaws.”

He had to laugh at that, the joy creeping up into the creases of his smile that his boyfriend’s mother actually wanted to meet him for once, instead of having to stay corpse-quiet when a parent called on the phone, like with a few other men he had been with. He pulled back to look Ace in the eyes, the sparkling, deep green that mirrored his own bliss, with all the excitement and anticipation of bringing his love into a bigger part of his life. For Ace it was bringing the first man he truly loved home to meet his family; for Brandon it was much more, it was about being included into Ace’s family traditions, it was feeling loved like he never had before.

“Christmas together,” he whispered, the pull of his heart towards Ace growing tighter, swelling, as he thought of all the implications of not being alone this year…of no longer being alone.

Ace quickly corrected him though, with a tender kiss to his lips. “Our first Christmas together,” he said. The way Ace had put it, there would be many Christmases more for them in time.

***

Ace never asked about it explicitly, he knew Brandon would tell him when he was ready, when the time was right, and he felt that both he and Ace were prepared to talk about something with a little more gravity than the kind of warm wardrobe Brandon needed to pack for Colorado.

They only flight Ace could afford for the both of them was an overnight trip, in a seating class one step above sleeping in the cargo bay, without even the amenities like salted peanuts and pretzels Ace had gotten used to on his travels home from college. But it was a flight, no matter what hour of night they arrived in Denver, and Ace lucked out to get two seats together on such short notice. He expected Brandon to sleep through the flight, the older man having never been a frequent flyer and not feeling his best in the air, but he was awake and alert, marveling at the peaceful way the plane zoomed over the distant lit highways of Ohio.

It startled Ace when Brandon started speaking, the dull and constant hum of the powerful engines outside making the older man’s tone heard only between the pair.

“I was 18 when it happened, and I thought I was in love.” He spoke out towards the window, out to the night, almost too insecure at first to meet Ace’s direct gaze. It was not until Ace reached over the armrest tentatively, taking Brandon’s hand in his, and bringing them both up to his lips to kiss the knuckles did Brandon turn to address it to Ace. “The guy convinced me to tell my parents. I was a dumb kid in high school, what did I know?”

“Brandon,” whispered Ace against their joined hands. He could anticipate the wavering in Brandon’s voice, the emotion, but still the older man pressed on.

“He had told his parents a long time before and they were fine with it; of course I thought mine would feel the same way.” He chuckled coldly, noticing in his mind the sincerity in Ace’s eyes, the loving and instinctual way his thumb stroked along the skin of Brandon’s hand, comforting him. He didn’t share this with many people, kept the emotional details to himself, but with Ace he knew that all these secrets would be safe, that he would be safe. “It’s kind of funny, I guess. I gave up my family for this guy and I don’t even remember his name.”

Ace said nothing but all he had to say was in his eyes, deep pools of green filled with sympathy and love, silently protesting with Brandon that he didn’t give up his family for a boy, it happened because of the discovery of who Brandon really was inside. And he didn’t give up anything, Ace’s eyes pleaded; Brandon’s family had given up on him.

“It hurt, you know?” Brandon was playing with the fringe on his seat belt that in case of an emergency could be used to strangle oneself before the plane made a disastrous and bloody crash. A soft squeeze of his hand brought his gaze back to Ace, and the acceptance that he found kept it there. “Kicking me out of the house for something I had no control over; for something that was making me so happy because I finally figured out who I was.” It helped that Ace asked no questions, didn’t push for more details, allowing Brandon to reveal the story on his own terms. “I’ll never forget the look of shame on my mother’s face…when she called me unnatural.”

A sudden flare of rage surged inside of Ace, livid over the way Brandon had been treated those years ago by the people he thought would love and accept him through anything. He tried to imagine his own parents reacting that way the first time he told them, his brothers; his mind came back a blank, like a computer’s blue screen of death, mind unable to compute. He was glad that he had never met a member of Brandon’s family before and probably never would: it would be near impossible to fight the urge to beat any one of them in the street for what they had put Brandon through.

Brandon took a moment to breathe, let the memory of his coming out pass like a transient nightmare; he had never forgotten them but pressed them down and away, refusing to allow sadness or resentment rule who he was. His parents found it rather easy to drop their only son out of their life, and he did the same, but without holding on to the self-pity or hatred that could have destroyed him. “I stayed with him for a little while but that fizzled out quick.” His first love…the man he thought taught him what love was, before he met Ace. Brandon couldn’t remember the name but he recalled his face, soft, boyish features framed in golden bangs. He seemed to always be attracted to green eyes and a dazzling smile, but his memories paled in comparison to the man sitting next to him.

That first love, the man who convinced him to come out to his parents so long ago, didn’t matter anymore; what mattered was the love he had now, this deep connection he shared with Ace.

Ace knew the rest of the story, the parts more about Brandon’s own transformation from an awkward teen thrown out on the street to the confident, caring man he knew and loved. A school guidance counselor – Brandon once called him his guardian angel, and still sent him a generous gift every year around the holidays whether he could afford it or not – noticed the regularly good student’s grades plummeting, and quickly discovered the young man’s situation. He connected Brandon with the New York LGBT Center in Chelsea and they found him housing, helped him get on his feet, graduate high school and get himself through college. He’s paid them back in the best way possible, dedicating his time to founding a gay teen mentoring program to ensure no other teens have to go through what he had alone. “Without them,” Brandon always said, never able to get the words out without choking past the memories. “I don’t even think I would be alive.”

For that, Ace gave his eternal gratitude to the Center, too.

“None of it really matters now, I guess.” Brandon always refused to let his parents’ abandonment define him; it happened to him, not because of him. On the dark days when sleeping on the street was a looming possibility, a threat, it was difficult to keep that in his mind. “It’s just…tough to imagine it’s that easy for the people you thought loved you to throw you away like that.”

Brandon grew silent; it had been a long time since he thought about these feelings of rejection, let alone speak about them aloud. That his parents could turn him out over who he was inside, something he couldn’t change nor ever wanted to change. Ace’s heart went out to him, more than ever, that Brandon felt sure enough to reveal this to him, unearthing memories long buried to give Ace a better understanding of his world. He wanted to take that teenaged Brandon and hold him in his arms, reassure him that everything would be alright and that he will be loved, he will be, so long as he keeps going and holds out hope for himself. To never give up.

“Thank you for inviting me.” It had been a few moments since Brandon spoke, and his words were much lower, barely above a whisper. Ace almost didn’t need to hear Brandon’s voice to know what he was saying; he was watching Brandon so intently, with such care, he thought he could read the older man’s lips if he really tried. “For bringing me with you to see your family. It…it means a lot to me.”

For the past month, television ads and the Macy’s storefront windows had been reminding Brandon that Christmas time was about spending time with family and the ones you love. Those ads sold millions of Hallmark cards and kept the phone companies busy with calls to home, but for the past five years all it made Brandon think of was how alone he was among the friends he surrounded himself with, a forced loner amid 8 million people. It made him yearn for the traditions he remembered as a child, the love; it made him wish he could have a family again.

And it meant the world to him that Ace was so ready and eager to share his family with the man he loved.

Ace couldn’t formulate the words in his head, couldn’t transmit all the emotions he felt through his brain and place them into words human language had created. There was so much, so much, and just the fact alone Brandon wanted to share with him what was obviously a very sensitive memory for him… All he could do was squeeze the hand in his and look at his lover with large, expressive eyes until Brandon finally looked away, out the window of the plane, and mentioned how empty the world appeared when it was dark.

It wasn’t until they had landed and disembarked in the black night in Denver that Ace found the words, somewhere between Brandon jokingly complaining about his ears never popping because of the altitude and the long wait for their bags at the luggage carousel. Ace rarely checked any bags when coming home for vacation, but the brave new world they had entered since September made it necessary even when bringing a nail clipper onboard. Besides, Brandon overpacked, unable to decide on a climate-appropriate wardrobe, and his hair products alone took up nearly an entire suitcase.

Brandon stood unassumingly at the stationary carousel, waiting for it to kick start and spew out their luggage – their flight was late coming in, and Ace’s parents were sure to be waiting for them by now and he’d be damned if he made the wrong impression on them before ever setting eyes on the Youngs. Suddenly he was swept up by a pair of strong arms encircling him from behind, a warm breath on the back of his neck and the familiar scent of Ace’s shampoo rushing to his senses. The arms squeezed tight, held him there in a loving embrace in front of dozens of holiday travelers who most probably didn’t often see two men in such a public display of affection in the middle of Denver International Airport.

“I love you,” he whispered; he was proud and sure enough to shout it to the world but this was close and intimate, meant only for Brandon. “And I will never throw you away. I promise.” Brandon felt the warmth in these words and the truth in Ace’s arms and his heart, and he knew that the younger man meant it for as long as he lived.

***

          _May 2008_

“That’s not good enough.”

Brandon couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; his parents had abandoned him over a decade ago, he had many a night in his teen years where he was a good fortune’s turn away from sleeping on the street, but never before had he ever felt so helpless. His body wanted to fold in on itself, break down and give up until this nightmare was over…but his pride and his heart kept him going, forced his heartrate steady and his resolve strong. He knew there was no legal way now for him to see Ace, to know anything about his condition, but he would never respect himself again if he didn’t try with everything he had, for the man he loved.

The nurse at the station, hard-faced but silently sympathetic to the trial Brandon must have been going through, looked past him, through him, to take the next patient in a never-ending line of the ill and injured. She felt for the man, knew that in a hospital in Greenwich Village he wasn’t the first or the last to have the same turmoil, but at this moment Brett Young was just another patient, Brandon Rogers was just an unauthorized visitor, and Lakisha Jones was the nurse that had to uphold the hospital’s laws.

His eyes widened, nerves jumping to attention, knowing that he couldn’t let her pass him over, not now, or else he’d never even have a chance to see Ace. He boldly placed his hands on the slippery formica of the nurses’ desk, letting out a shaky yet resolved breath. He didn’t have the luxury to be weepy or feel pity for himself; Ace needed him. When he finally found his voice it surprised even his own ears, his tone deadly steady, completely masking the terror he felt in his heart.

“I’m not leaving here,” he stared into the head nurse’s eyes with determination, a fire there that could cause the most solid of wills to waver. His gaze was watery and with every moment his eyes threatened the release of fearful tears, but this time all his energy was focus on this, the nurse could see the seriousness behind those unshed tears. “Until I get some answers. _Anything._ ”

Daughtry took a step back from his position next to Brandon at the nurses’ station; he didn’t expect to see anything like that coming from the other man. And the truth was, neither did Brandon: he didn’t know he had it in him, especially in this state, but when it came to his love a lot of things were possible.

The head nurse, however, was not as impressed. She had been on the job too long by now, she had her fair share of threats from family members and irate patients complaining about fees and other issues she had no control over. She’s had to face gangbangers searching for a gunshot wound victim looking to finish the job; she’s had to look little girls in the eye and tell them their father was dead upon arrival to the hospital because some reckless driver didn’t want to wait at the red light. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by one gay man on the verge of tears.

She leaned in slightly towards Brandon, not looking down for a second, her stare as solid as his and years more seasoned at strong-arming to get her way. “You’re going to take your hands off the desk, _sir,_ ” she only used pleasantries if she was absolutely done taking the bullshit ant the intimidation from patients, or if she were speaking to her boss. “Or I’m going to call security. And then you will be leaving the premises, whether you like it or not.”

Brandon was very willing to play this game of chicken: he held his breath, nostrils flaring, his stubbornness his only current defense mechanism. Nurse Jones didn’t wait for the response she was looking for; with an intimidatingly arched eyebrow she unflinchingly reached for the telephone to call over the security guards to none-too-politely escort Brandon out of the emergency room and away from the ailing Ace.

Daughtry, fortunately for all involved, was not too keen on angering either party and didn’t want to bring in security forces lest things get too out of hand. He stepped in quickly, his face all apologies for Brandon, a streak of panic in his eyes that they could actually be expelled from the hospital. “Whoah, whoah,” he delegated, holding out his arm towards the nurse non-threateningly. “There’s no need to call security. Really.” He turned to Brandon, whose gaze was still on the nurse in defiance. “Brandon.” He put a reassuring hand on Brandon’s shoulder, but it was also meant to push him, ease him away from the nurses’ station and the situation. “Why don’t you take a seat right there –“ he pointed to an empty row of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs, unpleasant for their dated, faded color alone. “And I’ll try to handle this.”

The look on Brandon’s face was one of desperation and panic: he shifted his gaze to Daughtry, pleading with large, expressive eyes. Daughtry saw what was behind those eyes: if he left now, Brandon was thinking, if he fell back even the slightest against the nurse he’d lose every foothold, and there’d be nothing stopping the hospital from kicking him out. If he didn’t hold what tiny bit of leverage he thought he had here, at this desk, he might lose the chance of seeing Ace or even knowing if he was okay.

“We’re not leaving here,” Daughtry came in closer, his words slow and deliberate, a strong stare to prove to Brandon he was serious about this. Brandon might be the one hurting most from this withheld information, but he wasn’t the only one hurting. “I promise you.”

That no-nonsense, straightforward tone in Daughtry’s voice, the one that, on lighter occasions, Brandon would make fun of for its intensity, was surprisingly calming, and he nodded slowly, loosening his grip on the formica desktop until his fingers slid away. His entire body felt deflated, worn out, and as he sank down into one of the chairs Daughtry had indicated that feeling of dread only deepened in his chest. That small little concession might have only meant to Nurse Jones that some loon was no longer holding her desk hostage, but to Brandon it was giving up his claim for information; it was like he was giving up on Ace.

He held his head in his hands, trying to stop the deafening buzzing in his mind, the phantom whispers predicting the absolute worst, as Daughtry tried to smooth over relations with the head nurse. “You can’t tell us anything?” Brandon overheard over the sound of his own heart racing.

The nurse truly sounded sympathetic, if a bit testy. “I can only release that to a family member,” she told him.

“He’s got no family here,” was Daughtry’s reply, and although by all legal means he was correct it wrenched at Brandon’s heart to overhear.

 _I’m his family,_ he wanted to scream, his hands clenching into fists at his temples over the frustration. He felt it with every breath that he took, with every fiber of his being and every second of the past seven years he had been with Ace. And the truth was, if Ace wasn’t his family, the man he knew would never throw him away, he didn’t know who was.

In another moment Daughtry was by his side, a scowl on his face. The seasoned officer didn’t have much experience with being easily dismissed by a short, squat nurse with more attitude and less patience than him. “It’s still no use,” he grunted, wanting to say more about how Brandon and Ace’s proxy status could have changed all that, but the look of anguish on the other man’s face stopped his words. Brandon didn’t need some other party to make him realize what a horrible mistake that had been, he could feel that mistake in every bone in his body.

“I’ve got to…” Brandon fiddled with the items in his hands, shoving a hand into his pocket nervously, fingers finding the cell phone there. His mind was shutting off emotion for the sake of rational thought: if he thought about this too much, he even for a second he let his mind wander to think of Ace alone in an operating room, he’d never be able to set his mind on anything else. He took the phone out of his pocket, his hands trembling. “I’ve got to call his parents…”

Jay and Kay Young…if they hadn’t already been notified by the dispassionate hospital social services staff Brandon needed to speak with them immediately. His motives weren’t fully altruistic: he knew the moment he spoke with them Ace’s mother would fret like no other, and his father would book the next flight into New York even if he had to maim someone for the seats. But more than that Brandon knew the normally peaceful matriarch of the Young clan would raise hell once she found out how her baby boy and her son-in-law were being treated.

He raised the phone to his ear but Daughtry immediately thought better of it: the unshed tears in Brandon’s eyes told him he was in no condition to tell his in-laws their son was in mortal danger. With quick reflexes he gently took the phone away from Brandon’s war and out of his grasp, flipping it closed before the other man could protest. “Let me call them,” he offered.

“Thank you,” he breathed out a sigh of relief that only caused him to hold back more tears; if he did call the Youngs, dear God, he bet they’d be as worried for him as for Ace, and that feeling and all the history behind it was not something Brandon needed to think about. He heard the creak of used joints as Daughtry kneeled next to him, his eyes pressing yet caring, a look Brandon never saw from them before.

“Is there anyone else I should call?” his voice was deliberate and careful and probably straight out of some negotiations textbook but at this moment it was soothing the surface of Brandon’s nerves but never getting to the deep end.

Nodding so slightly no one who had not been scrutinizing his every reaction would have noticed, Brandon relegated the job of contacting everything important to a more level head. “Elliott,” he thought of the name immediately, no matter what borough the social worker might have been stationed in that day. “He’ll want to know right away. And his office, they must be wondering where he is…”

The answer was good, solid and sensible, but it wasn't what Daughtry was looking for. His gaze persisted, full of concern. "I meant," his voice was quieter; he could see the thin veneer of bravery failing and peeling on Brandon's face, masking the fear. "Is there anyone I should call for you."

Brandon didn't realize how transparent he was, or just how much hurt was etched onto his face and woven through his actions, until Daughtry mentioned it, saw it through clear eyes and a level head. He was trying to hold onto sanity, for Ace, but his own internal will, waning like a fading voice in his head, wasn't going to be enough. He had lots of friends that helped with crises before, but before there was always Ace right there, Ace who knew how to quell his nerves and turn a thunderstorm of panic into a drizzle with just a look and a tender touch. Brandon hadn't many friends that knew him before he had met Ace, and his list was short in his mind.

"Blake." It was the first name on his mind; Blake, passionate and wild, Blake who more often than not was asking Brandon for help or advice. If he knew about the situation - he had become a good friend of Ace's as well recently, which surprised Brandon as their personalities were starkly different - he'd be at the hospital in a heartbeat, at the very least distracting Brandon from his troubles. "You...you can call Blake."

Daughtry didn't know this Blake person, but he wasn't very close with Brandon to begin with much less Brandon's friends. It always amazed him, that two people with such distinct and different circles of friends could work so well together, fit like the perfect spheres of a venn diagram and make that overlaying sliver so harmonious and beautiful. With a short nod promising he'd return, Daughtry stepped out of the noisy waiting room, into the brutal sunshine of the May afternoon, tepid in its heat but making up for it with a blinding shine. The glint off the idling ambulances didn't help at all; Daughtry suddenly felt surrounded by light and metal, assaulting his senses, and he fleetingly thought of Ace this morning in such a similar but drastically different feeling.

Using Brandon's phone, the first call was to Colorado - not an easy call but the one that above all needed to happen, and thank God Daughtry had never met the Youngs or else he didn't think that phone call would be bearable. Ace's brother had answered, visiting his parents while on a road trip to the Grand Canyon, and it softened the blow for all parties involved; Ryan was indeed shaken by the sudden news of his younger brother but it would have been worlds worse had his mother answered the phone, Ryan assured him this. In this way a family member detached from the situation but close to Ace's heart could break the news to them, there to gauge the look of shock and pain on their faces, there to help soften the blow. Daughtry thanked him, and Ryan promised he'd call with any information and asked with trepidation how Brandon was handling it all. Daughtry didn't respond; he didn't know the answer to that himself.

His next two calls went smoothly - he and Elliott were well acquainted thanks to Ace, and the other man promised to get to St. Vincent's as fast as an F train would travel. The firm's receptionist didn't seem to realize the gravity of the situation, thinking this was just a junior partner's creative way of getting a three-day weekend, but she said she'd pass on the information to his colleagues in the office, and hopefully someone with a higher degree and more common sense would see how serious it truly was.

The last call, the one he was sure Brandon would need most, was to Blake Lewis.

He let the phone ring once, twice, three times - he had no idea who this guy was, only that he was Brandon's first choice for moral support in this time that he'd need it more than anything. Four times; Daughtry swore under his breath that he'd choke someone if this Blake decided that today was the day he'd start screening his calls.

On the fifth ring someone answered the call but it certainly wasn't what Daughtry had expected to hear.

"Christ in a fucking strap on, Brandon," came the crude, irritated voice from the other end of the line, startling Daughtry and causing him to balk like never before. "I've got a deadline this evening at midnight, I've got a photographer that seems to have his zoom lens shoved straight up his ass, and my editor's on the rag and won't listen to a goddamned word I say. So forgive me if I really don't want to talk about what flavor lube you think is the most 'Vegas' for your trip right now."

The line on both ends was eerily silent for a moment, with Blake wondering if the other end had hung up on him - as Brandon was a good friend and understood some of Blake's stressful outbursts but everyone had a threshold - and Daughtry too stunned to speak. He wasn't quite sure if Brandon made the right decision for a calming, comforting, understanding friend.

There was a sign on Blake's end; that tirade was a burst of frustration and simmering anger finally let out and completely at the wrong person. Blake hoped that Brandon would understand and not be too vindictive and bitchy about the whole thing. "Hey, I'm sorry man." His voice changed now to a weary groan; deadlines were always a horror for Blake and with the gay marriage news coming out of California all of his previous articles were scrapped in favor of the fresh meat. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, it's totally not about you, or your lube. I've just been having a really shitty week."

Finally Daughtry found his voice, if a bit strained, and befuddled. "Um..." he began, and could almost hear the confusion wash over Blake's face over the telephone from the foreign timbre on Brandon's cell phone. "This isn't Brandon. My name's Chris Daughtry, I'm a friend of Ace Young," he explained quickly, hoping not to draw this out to alarm the other man. "And this week's just gotten even worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon’s past Christmases alone – in a bathrobe eating ham and cheese Hot Pockets – is based off one of my own Christmases spent alone in college, though I don’t celebrate the holiday and as such was having a blast being alone with nothing to do other than watch the snow fall. :D
> 
> The [Yule Log](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yule_Log_\(TV_program\)) is a New York City tradition that dates back to the 1960s. Most houses and apartments in NYC don’t have a fireplace to crowd around on Christmas morning, so the local television station broadcast one for four hours in the morning, complete with Christmas music, and it’s become a holiday staple in the area. It’s shown every year now, without commercial interruption, and for little kids in the city it’s a huge thing to see on Christmas. There’s also a whole documentary on the history of the program titled “A Log’s Life.”
> 
> [The Gay Center](http://www.gaycenter.org/) of Chelsea is an actual place where staff and volunteers provide counseling, programs, and just a safe and pleasant place for LGBT teens in New York. I don’t know if they would go so far as to find housing or anything as they had with Brandon in the story, but I’d like to think they’d try as best as they could. There’s also no mention of a big brother/big sister program specifically, like the one Brandon founds and operates, but maybe there should be. ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

          _December 2001_

Brandon’s smile quirked to the left, his etiquette melting away once the Youngs, like some updated version of a Norman Rockwell universe, retreated to the den and left the two men in the upstairs bedroom to unpack. “Your mom hugged me.”

Ace shrugged, his smile a permanent, lazy grin, unable to hide the glint of childhood nostalgia mixed with adult happiness and desire. “She really likes you,” he reasoned.

This didn’t explain anything, Brandon thought; the only people who hugged strangers in New York were the wheatgrass-fueled hippies handing out free hugs in Union Square, and they were usually trying to steal your wallet. “Your dad hugged me.”

Ace’s grin was incredibly wide, like a naughty child hiding a secret, a Christmas surprise. “He just likes hugging people.”

Perhaps in Denver everyone was pleased to hug everyone else, but in New York people knew to keep their distance. Brandon was unfamiliar and wary of this kind of attention, the closeness without pretense or ulterior motive, but he was oddly intrigued by it as well. “Your brothers aren’t going to hug me when I meet them, are they?” he raised an eyebrow skeptically.

The younger man couldn’t help but laugh, if only at the hilarious mental image of his older brothers suffocating Brandon in an all-encompassing group hug. “My brothers don’t hug, they headlock,” he replied, enjoying quite a bit the amount of fascination and interest Brandon was already taking in the Youngs’ domestic traditions.

Brandon smiled as he watched the exuberant life in Ace’s eyes; the younger man couldn’t hide for the past week how excited and pleased he was to return home for the holidays, and all the more now that his boyfriend was here, being warmly greeted with hugs by his parents. It was a treat for Brandon to see him like this, something raw and untapped that lay unseen in New York. Ace’s home, Ace’s family, Ace’s love…they were all here, all integral parts and pieces of his life, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Look at you.” Brandon grinned; he wished he could photograph Ace like this, capture the energy and the bliss on his face and frame it like an aura, place that world of sunshine into a wallet-sized photo he could keep with him always.

Ace was humble in his innocence; Brandon didn’t know if Ace was playing a game with him or he honestly didn’t see how gleeful he was, it was radiating from his bones. “I’m just happy,” he downplayed, running a hand through his chin-length hair and idly repositioning a photo on the shelf of himself during his Little League days. Brandon silently reminded himself to get well acquainted with Kay Young’s family photo albums before he returned to New York.

“You’re beaming,” Brandon corrected him, leaning against the wall and indulging in the view of Ace in his childhood bedroom. “I’ve never seen you like this. You look like you’re about to start jumping on the bed.”

Ace glanced over at the measly twin in the center of the room. “I used to, when I was little –“ both men in the room were in agreement that Ace was not little anymore, in any sense of the word. “- but I think I might break the bed if I ever tried now.” They both shared a laugh; Ace’s parents were being quite liberal with their son and houseguest, staying diplomatically away to give the two their privacy upstairs, but even the most respectful and abiding parents would think twice if their youngest son and his boyfriend began rattling the bed from upstairs.

Which, now that the thought passed through Ace’s mind, was something Ace and his parents had negotiated before they touched ground in Colorado. “You’ll be in the guest room,” Ace told Brandon glumly; although the guest room was infinitely more spacious than Ace’s old bedroom, they had gotten a taste of sleeping and living in the same bed together, and now it felt like torture to be under the same roof but physically apart.

Brandon understood the concession, didn’t think the Youngs would even let Ace’s brothers and their wives sleep in the same bed under their roof, but the sharp memory of waking up to Ace’s faint musky scent all around him, his bare skin hot against his underneath soft sheets for the past few days in his apartment…that wasn’t something easily pushed aside. “I’m in your room now,” he replied coyly, eyes cast down on the bed with a slyly raised eyebrow. He had a few more intentions for that bed than jumping on it.

The younger man’s eyebrows perked up in alert; he knew that look in Brandon’s eyes, that smile in the corner of his mouth that got them into more trouble with the gods of punctuality than he could recall. “Brandon,” was his warning tone, trying to sound stern but the tone floating to Brandon’s ears was coy and challenging; not the response Ace had in mind. He reached over towards Brandon’s suitcase, determined to interrupt Brandon’s thoughts before they could be acted upon. Brandon devilishly countered by locking the bedroom door behind his back, very willing to barricade the place with his own body if necessary.

But that low crumble of protest in Ace’s eyes told him that wouldn’t be needed. “My parents are downstairs!” Ace blushed a spotty red just thinking about it as Brandon took a step towards him in the room, closing the gap between them and the bed. It was rather cute, the way Ace’s eyes widened at the indignity of Brandon’s thoughts, the immodesty. Brandon would have to break him of that habit eventually.

“We are upstairs,” Brandon’s words were slow as he placed both of his hands on Ace’s chest, fingers easily finding the familiar muscles through layers of clothing. Instinctively Ace raised a hand to Brandon’s, covering the hand with his palm over his heart. Brandon didn’t care if the Queen of England was having tea and crumpets in the kitchen downstairs; he needed Ace, and he wouldn’t let Jay and Kay Young’s presence downstairs stop him. “And I haven’t been able to touch you in twelve hours.”

The desire, the carnal yearning for his lover was too deep to hide under a thin layer of seduction. Ace couldn’t say no to that touch, those eyes of Brandon’s or the lips that pressed against his as Brandon eased him down to the tiny mattress, unzipping Ace’s pants on the way down. He did his part of protest and resignation, his parents couldn’t vex him for that, and as Brandon swallowed him down in the bedroom he spent his childhood in, surrounded by nostalgic memories while making some new ones, Ace anticipated this to be a very good Christmas indeed.

***

Ace’s brother Ryan had found him in the hallway, returning from the bathroom while the family was happily occupied with decorating the 6-foot spruce in the livingroom, but Brandon was more apt to call it an ambush.

“This isn’t going to involve headlocks, is it?” Brandon asked warily, raising an eyebrow at the other man’s impromptu meeting. Ryan had flown in from Boulder that morning and hadn’t said more than a half dozen words to Brandon all day. After what Ace had told him about his older brothers, Brandon wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Ryan shook his head, a bit befuddled by the question. Obviously the picture his little brother was painting of him was less then saintly. “No headlocks,” he held his hands up at his chest in resignation; Christmas was not the time for violence, at least not among non-family members. “Promise. I just want to talk.”

Talking, Brandon thought, especially in a vestibule while the rest of the family was distracted with tinsel and good conversation, was not any more encouraging. He envisioned Ryan being the representative of all the Young sons, the diplomat of the brothers, giving Brandon that daring and intimidating address about exactly how he would be disemboweled if he ever broke Ace’s heart. He wasn’t planning on breaking Ace’s heart, would diligently injure himself if he did, but the prospect of having that talk altogether was not something Brandon anticipated.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting to get chewed out in the way only a very large and menacing man with a gay baby brother could. Ryan had inherited the Young build Brandon had grown to know and love in Ace’s body: tall, even taller than Ace so he was towering over Brandon, with broad shoulders and large hands perfect for baseball. If he wanted to, Ryan could easily overpower Brandon, or keep him at bay with just a threatening stare; but just like Ace, Ryan’s demeanor was peaceful and calming to everyone around him. Brandon should have felt uneasy about the approach but something told him he had been expecting something far worse than Ryan planned.

“When Ace told us he was bringing you to Christmas this year, I have to admit it was…awkward, to say the least.” Ryan had picked up the same habit as Ace of running his hands nervously through thick shoulder-length hair; Brandon wondered if the quirk was genetic, nature versus nurture. “Before this - before you – I almost thought this was a phase, something he’d experiment with in college and grow out of eventually.”

Brandon set his jaw; he didn’t like to be called a phase, his lifestyle or him personally, not even by his lover’s older brother. The way he felt about Ace, from the first moment he met him, and the way he knew Ace felt about him like a glittering precious gem small enough to hold in one’s hand and keep with him always…this wasn’t something Brandon planned to grow out of. But he allowed Ryan to continue without interruption; there was something about the other man’s tone that made Brandon think this wasn’t all of the conversation.

Ryan’s face grew softer, hints of a smile in his eyes. He hadn’t inherited the dazzling green eyes like Ace, they were a dull hazel attempting to come close to that treasured hue Brandon was in love with. “But now that I see him with you…I’m hoping it’s not a phase.”

“What do you mean?” Brandon quirked an eyebrow at the observation.

“Ace is…different when he’s with you.” Ryan paused, trying to find the right words, effective but not offensive. Brandon felt slightly triumphant inside; apparently, he was important enough in Ace’s life for his brother to tiptoe around the subject of their relationship. “Not a bad kind of different, either. Not even _different,_ different…he’s changed, but not. He’s happier, smiles brighter…he’s still the Ace I’ve known his whole life, but –“

Their heads both turned towards the family room, the sound of Ace’s laughter floating through the halls. It was like a soothing chime to Brandon’s ears, like a soft whisper with each laugh telling him everything would be alright so long as that man was smiling.

That small change in Brandon’s face, the softening of tense lines just for Ace’s laugh; that was exactly what Ryan had been looking for. He smiled wide and toothy, and finished his thought from before. “When he’s with you, he’s more Ace than I’ve ever seen him.”

The small observation was monumental to Brandon; he smiled, grinned, almost felt like crying but blushed instead. He couldn’t imagine the compliment Ryan just gave him, gave his love for Ace, that it was so obvious how their relationship had changed them both for the better. He tried to think of how his life would be altered without the light and the bliss of Ace’s love in his world; it was so far removed from his reality now he couldn’t even imagine it.

Ryan slapped a hand on Brandon’s shoulder; a significant display of respect and affection for a straight man, or so Brandon had heard. ‘You’re good for him,” he answered, his words falling deep in Brandon’s heart, storing them in his memory. “That’s easy enough to see. I think…I think with you, Ace is finally figuring out who Ace really is.”

Brandon basked in the compliment of their love, smiling and whispering a “thank you” to Ryan while anticipating returning to that man making merriment in the livingroom. But he didn’t hold onto that peace for long; the hand on his shoulder tightened as Ryan leaned in, a rasp with a hint of humor and danger in the tone. “But if you ever hurt him, I’ll make sure they don’t find your body till the snow melts.”

***

It was early Christmas morning, and Kay Young missed the old days. Her house used to be radiating warmth and excitement to keep away the Colorado chill, with a family full of boisterous, happy boys eagerly waiting the dawn. She would awaken each December 25th to Marc’s cheers of Merry Christmas, or to Duff cleverly inspecting the wrapped presents underneath the tree, or to a kiss from Ace, her youngest, to start the day.

The house was still warm now but from central heating, not from the excited little bodies of her boys awaiting Santa Claus. Her sons were all out of the nest now: some returned for Christmases and birthdays while others were beginning family traditions of their own. The quiet solitude of the close dawn was an unfamiliar scene for Kay, having cherished the noisy, busy Christmases for so long. She felt like she was walking around a stranger’s house, in a stranger’s bathrobe, shuffling in foreign slippers so as not to awake the sons who now considered themselves visitors in the house.

This was what it felt like to grow old.

As she walked through the family room on her way to the kitchen, she noticed she wasn’t the only one awake in the house. Brandon was at the bay window, framed by glass and the emerging dawn, sitting serenely without a sound and watching the snow fall. It was peaceful to watch him there, to see the world she knew every day for decades through a newcomer’s eyes, the wonder of a snowy morning in Colorado worlds away from the solitary New York Christmases Brandon had gotten used to.

She almost didn’t want to disturb him, felt appropriate to slip back into the master bedroom into her husband’s embrace. But there was something else she saw in Brandon at that window, a loneliness unknown to her that he kept well disguised when other eyes were on him. “I’m sorry,” she spoke softly, watching the young man stir in surprise at the window, tearing his gaze away from the powder white snow. “Did I wake you, Brandon?”

“No, I was already up,” he replied; she knew this, of course, he was so quiet and still at the window, that amount of peaceful concentration only comes from a decent amount of time just sitting, and thinking. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Kay Young was a terribly light sleeper, trained for decades to awaken alert and ready just from the slightest cough or groan of pain from one of her sons. But even so she had not heard Brandon trek all the way from the upstairs guest bedroom – or Ace’s room, knowing how poorly all of her boys abided by that rule in the house – to the window. “Nonsense,” she waved her hand at him; even if he had woken her, it wasn’t something for a guest to fret about. She went over to him, sensing he wasn’t giving up his perch for less than a house fire or homemade waffles; he smiled, a kind, unhindered happiness she could easily see her youngest falling for, and turned back to the seemingly never-ending display of snowfall on their front yard.

“It’s so beautiful,” he said in a hushed voice, more to himself than to her, but meant to be heard all the same. He had come down to the front from when he first saw the flakes out the guest room window, and felt mesmerized by the quiet serenity of it all. “The light’s better out here, I couldn’t really see a thing from the back of the house…I hope you don’t mind.”

Kay waved her hand dismissively again, pleased only to know that someone in the house was appreciating the simple beauty of a calm snowfall. “You don’t get snow in New York?” she asked. Three years of a son moving back into Columbia’s dorms told her there was indeed snow in Manhattan, but it fell dully against the grime of the streets. In Colorado, in her backyard and against the stone pathway leading to her door, it seemed to glitter.

Brandon looked back out towards the snow, a dreamy, ethereal expression on his face. “Not like this.” His voice was like a secret; he loved New York, it would always be home to him, and his sudden flood of affection for this Christmas morning felt like cheating. “By this time in the morning, salt trucks and plows scour the streets; it makes for an easy commute but it’s noisy, messy…the snow’s filthy from the streets. There’s no magic in a New York snowfall, it’s mostly just a nuisance.” The only thing he had seen to mar the pristine sheet of snow across the yard was a wayward chipmunk pawing through the white stuff, searching for lost acorns or perhaps returning to his home.

“Besides, we don’t usually get white Christmases,” he spoke a little louder, the magic of the moment a little bit lost. “More like white Groundhog’s Day.”

Kay patted Brandon on the shoulder, a sturdy, brave woman with the frame of a mother who could birth five Young boys. “Oh, now that is something we’ve always got an abundance of in the mountains,” she replied with a smirk. “You drop your keys in October, you won’t find them till April!” With a sweet kiss on Brandon’s cheek, full with a grin, she made her way to the kitchen, still in a bit of a chaotic state from the dinner the night before. It had been so much easier to keep the house tidy when she could bribe her sons to do all the chores. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” she asked. “I’m going to put up some water, then we can both watch the snow.”

Kay didn’t realize at first how her simple offering to sip hot chocolate and count the innumerable flakes as they floated towards the earth meant to Brandon; in a split second it was all over his face, eyes glossy and crinkled at the edges from smiling so damn much over his visit. Rising from the bay windowsill seat he place one hand on Kay’s shoulder, then another until he gave in to his body’s instinct and pulled in to a full hug, the warmth of the act paling in comparison to the warmth in his heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice choked with the tears he hadn’t shed in over five years. He thanked the Youngs for so much more than the guest room and the hot chocolate: it was the first hugs that greeted him at the airport, it was the effortless extra place at the dinner table that looked like it had been there all along, waiting for Brandon to arrive. It was how everything between him and Ace was known but never mentioned, how he didn’t have to explain or justify, only enjoy the feeling of Ace’s arms around him as the Young clan gathered around a midnight fire together. It was a thank you for making him feel like an equal part of their family.

As Kay returned the hug with care and sympathy, her youngest son looked on, awoken by the cold emptiness filling his bed, watching in the doorway but not daring to enter and interfere. Ace simply stood there, taking in this sight of his boyfriend embracing his mother so warmly and loving, feeling such a surge of emotion in his chest he thought he’d pitch over from the weight of it. He stored that image in his memory, framed by twinkling Christmas lights and falling snow, and would never tell his mother or Brandon what he had overseen. It was something they, as well as he, would probably prefer to keep private.

***

          _May 2008_

“Brandon. Brandon.”

The voice was familiar to Brandon’s ears, his mind recognized it immediately as the friend he’d seen grow from an awkward, energetic teen to a full-fledged responsible man. But it wasn’t until Blake waved a hand over Brandon’s line of sight, the tinge of fear in his voice, did he find the will to actually respond. “Brandon, are you…are you okay?”

He looked up at Blake, worry etched into a furrowed brow, cell phone at his side still hot from overuse of calling nearly everyone the blond thought might give two shits if Ace Young lived or died. It was obvious from the look in Brandon’s eyes, a dry weep for almost an hour now blotting them a puffy, bloodshot red, the pupils darting everywhere as a futile search for answers, that Brandon was far from okay. Blake was a master of words when he put them on the page and somehow spelled them correctly, but in times of crisis he had no idea how to act, what to say.

But that Daughtry character, who was standing against the wall and glaring at the nurses’ station, had called him urgently because Brandon needed him for support in all this. And Blake couldn’t ever consider himself a decent human being if he didn’t at least try.

Brandon said nothing, didn’t need to: the pain was all over his face, the fear, and as much as he wanted to believe it was all some elaborate practical joke Ace orchestrated to outdo him for their anniversary, he knew it wasn’t true.

“Have you heard anything?” Daughtry had given Blake some of the basic information on the phone, as Blake was racing out of his apartment and hailing the closest taxi going uptown, but when he arrived at St. Vincent’s he was horrified to find out that was all they knew, that because of outdated paperwork Brandon was shut out from knowing anything about his lover. Another time, another circumstance, and Blake’s journalist instinct would be all over the injustice: one call to his editor who would latch onto the idea of a civil rights article like a brass ring at a carnival, a quick copy with his byline and the tag “Gay City News Exclusive” and he’d be set with accolades for months. But aiming for the stars too ambitiously in his career had once almost cost him his relationship; he wasn’t going to reach for greatness while stomping on his friendship with Brandon along the way.

“Nothing,” Brandon felt terrible to admit it, for sitting there for the better part of an hour and not trying harder to find out something, to plead with anyone who would listen to allow him to see Ace, just for a moment. Daughtry had advised him against it lest Brandon give the hospital a good reason to throw out troublemakers in the emergency room, no matter if Brandon was in turmoil or not. Daughtry was always on the ready in case Brandon, in a burst of frustration, charged the nurses’ station or something just as desperate. Brandon had to admit to himself it wasn’t a thought that didn’t cross his mind.

“Do you want anything?” Blake pressed; he was shit at comforting people and was eager to earn his friend’s reasoning for calling on him in a crisis.

Brandon hadn’t meant to say it but the words slipped out, he had no control over what he had really wanted from the moment he came home to an eerily still apartment that afternoon. “I want Ace,” he whispered, heart aching like a missing limb.

Blake stepped back and away from Brandon, feeling the near physical weight of the words, of that longing in Brandon exposed in those small words. It was something Blake couldn’t imagine feeling, didn’t want to even think that could happen to the people he loved, and it was a request Blake couldn’t fulfill no matter how much he wanted to help Brandon’s suffering. He looked on with regretful eyes, placing a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, standing above his seated frame; it was all he could think to do at this time.

Thankfully Daughtry came rushing in, Brandon’s cell phone in hand, to distill the tension of the scene. Blake didn’t know this guy well – he had a feeling he would before the day was over – but he already guessed he had excellent timing. “It’s Ryan,” he said in a clipped, straightforward way that reminded Blake of his own Chris in a way, an inherent assuredness in crises. He thrust the phone towards Brandon, who looked at it with mild interest, though his senses seemed dulled to Blake, subdued in a way that just wasn’t Brandon. “He wants to talk to you.”

With his mind and his body working on auto-pilot to keep him going, Brandon took his phone back from Daughtry, who knew from the tone in Ryan Young’s voice over the phone there was information about Ace to be had. “Ryan,” Brandon said in a monotone into the receiver, letting the other man know he was listening.

Ryan’s voice sounded strained, battled; everyone whose life was touched by Ace reacted differently to the news but was reacting nonetheless. “Brandon,” he said, a little sigh of relief to know that at least his brother’s boyfriend was there, even if he couldn’t fully be there for Ace at the moment. “It’s good to hear you’re there. How…how are you holding up?”

Closing his eyes in simmering frustration, Brandon gripped the phone in his hand, wishing that there could be someone here that wouldn’t ask how he was doing. “Have you heard anything –?“ he got right to the point, impatient with pleasantries.

There would have been only one reason Ryan insisted on speaking with Brandon: he knew something, something Brandon had a right to know. “I told Mom and Dad, and they called the social services of the hospital right away.” A soft bit of reverence crept into Ryan’s tone, an attempt, perhaps, to lighten the mood and the leaden weight on Brandon’s heart. “You should have heard the shit Mom gave them over the phone; if they didn’t crap their pants over the things she said I’d be surprised.”

It was all well and good to chew out the dispassionate hospital staff but it still did Brandon no good, he was still on this side of that door separating those loving and those beloved. It was comforting, however, to know that after all those years Kay Young was still fighting for him and Ace, still treating Brandon as good as family. “Your mom’s one tough cookie,” he tried to go along, to talk as if he and Ryan were having normal Friday afternoon conversation but he felt like screaming into the receiver, desperate to know about Ace.

Ryan could hear all of that in his voice; Brandon apparently wasn’t good at keeping his emotions out of his voice, especially when it came to Ace. “They could only tell us so much over the phone,” he explained; he remembered the look of horror as it washed over his mother’s face when she listened to the doctor across the country telling her of her youngest’s fate. “Brandon…it’s not good.”

Not good, Brandon could deal with. Terrible, even. But he just had to know something, had to at least take that jump away from the terrifying limbo he was in. “How bad?” he was almost too afraid to ask; the words alarmed Blake and Daughtry, who were listening intently to Brandon’s side of the crucial conversation.

“The doctors said they brought him into surgery to stop the internal bleeding.” Brandon had watched enough episodes of ER and paid attention to the plots and off of Eriq LaSalle enough to gauge the severity of those injuries. “His body’s got a lot of damage, broken bones…they’ve tried to do all they can but he still needs another surgery. They need to see if he’ll…” even Ryan sounded shaken on the phone; he stopped a moment to compose himself, the words so difficult to relay as they were to hear. “If he makes it through the next few hours, he’ll be okay. But –“

“But he’s got to make it through the next few hours.” Brandon finished the thought, preferring this to anything worse Ryan might have ended up saying, to pessimistic doctors’ prognoses or bad news he didn’t know if he could handle on top of everything else.

The sigh he let slip into the phone – ragged, tense, a clear giveaway of his emotions – must have tipped Ryan off to what Brandon was fearing in his heart. “Ace is strong,” he assured him, but for some reason, it made Brandon feel even more fragile than before. “And if he’s not strong, then at least he’s stubborn as all hell, everyone can agree on that. He’s going to make it through this, Brandon.”

He wanted to believe him; more than anything Brandon wanted to wash his hands of the worry, leave that aching in his heart up to the doctors of God or to any other entity up for bearing that weight. But there would be no resting easy until Ace was awake, happy and safe with him, and the ever-New York fatalist in Brandon chipped away in his mind that might never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are, as Brandon describes them, wheatgrass-fueled hippies that periodically show up throughout the city to give people free hugs as a sociological experiment showing that everyone needs random love sometimes, lol. Often they can be found in Union Square, which is close to NYU and other colleges. While they do get a lot of takers who partake in free hugs, lifelong New Yorkers like Brandon would be instantly wary and, if they ever did get a hug, would check for their wallet immediately after disentangling.
> 
> According to Ace’s [Wikipedia article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ace_Young), he is the youngest of five sons, and I tried to mention all of them in this chapter. Even by 2001 most of the Young boys would have started making families of their own, so it’s typical that they might not all come back to Colorado for Christmas. Ryan, who, iirc, is the second youngest, is the closest with Ace and would be the representative brother to have THAT kind of talk with Brandon.
> 
> When you’ve got to get to work in the morning, New Yorkers cheer for the usually speedy (if not hasty) cleanup of the streets after a snowstorm. The snow never really seems to get a chance to look pretty in the city, there’s always a snow plow getting it out of the way or traffic turning it to black slush. The only places to really enjoy the snow are, much like enjoying any other facet of nature, are the public parks and other small areas where the snow remains undisturbed. But when you have nowhere to go and all you want to do is sit and stare at the snowfall, New York certainly disappoints.
> 
> Although the 2008-2009 season has been an anomaly, the metropolitan New York region doesn’t usually see snow until late in the winter, and usually gets only one big snowstorm a year. The whole “White Christmas” deal doesn’t typically apply.


	7. Chapter 7

          _March 2002_

 

Ace knew he was going to be a lawyer since he was six years old.

Growing up the youngest boy in a family of five sons, Ace learned the important details early, like the significance of having a bathroom to yourself for 5 minutes and that the word “shotgun” could be more powerful and sacred than the Lord’s Prayer. He learned that he could beat Ryan at arm wrestling but not a footrace, that Duff had the worst taste in hand-me-downs, that because of Marc and a carefully placed frog in third grade science class the teacher was now terrified of any Young child. He learned that in good times his brothers would protect him from any outside forces threatening their clan, but with the flip side being Ace was the first one to be blamed when a rule was inevitably broken in the Young household.

He learned at a very young age he needed to defend himself, convincingly and thoroughly, or his brothers would know they could get away with anything.

The rules of the house were strict and well-defined four times over once Ace had come into the picture, but he knew them inside and out for self-preservation and a preservation of the truth. By the time he was eight he proved it was not him but Josh who dyed the dog purple; by nine his parents already knew he wasn’t the son who took Kay Young’s diaphragm to Show & Tell. Ace could have used his negotiation skills and his parents’ trust to condemn his brothers, commit these infringements and blame them, but that would have been against his budding morals, and his staunch belief in upholding truth and the power behind those household laws.

For five brief seconds in high school he toyed with continuing in his father’s footsteps and pursuing baseball seriously, but although his body and mind were quite able and more than acceptable to rise to stardom on his varsity team, his heart wasn’t fully in it. He was never more alert than in history class, listening intently among the restless and the bored, at the valiant exploits of the Founding Fathers, using laws and legislation to battle for America’s freedom.

That year Ace applied for Columbia University’s pre-law program, and although his parents were dreadfully unhappy with their baby moving across the country even they couldn’t turn down the unique honor a full scholarship was bestowed upon their boy. It was the way Ace imagined his life would turn: law school, passing the bar, becoming junior partner at a prestigious firm. Columbia taught his mind about the fine art of litigation and arguing your way through any trial, but what he learned most was the value of truth, and upholding it the best way he could.

He never fully understood how important it was to value truth in his own life until he fell in love with Brandon Rogers.

In his senior year of undergraduate school with just a few measly weeks towards that golden medal of graduation, Ace still had a full schedule of classes and a rigorous schedule at the firm for his internship at every other waking moment he wasn’t in lecture. But even with his packed schedule he still made sure to fit Brandon in for quality time, even if it meant only seeing him for lunch the entire day. He wished he could spend more time with his boyfriend every day instead of one lazy Tuesday sleeping in and giddily making love in Brandon’s apartment.

But Brandon understood the arrangement, knew that the long-term goal of a successful law career was more important than a week alone without responsibilities, even if Ace himself sometimes didn’t feel that way. And the most important parts were the times like this, a quick duck away from Ace’s responsibilities at the firm to sneak away for an hour and share a bento box with his lover.

Since it was easier for Brandon to take more than the designated hour for lunch as he usually met Ace outside of the law firm’s imposing building in the East 30s; even if he was the Second Coming Brandon couldn’t get into the building without proper ID. The Japanese restaurant two blocks over was Brandon’s favorite place to stop in, while Ace preferred the hot curries at the Indian place filled with similar business suits. Brandon was never introduced to Ace’s fellow interns or colleagues and they always ate alone. Brandon questioned once, softly, in the cooling air after making love, if Ace didn’t want anyone at the firm to know he was dating a man, but Ace merely explained that if one short hour was all the time he had to see his boyfriend, he preferred having Brandon all to himself.

Unable to let go of sneaking doubts and the New York cynicism he was born with, Brandon didn’t fully believe him until now.

“Curry In A Hurry?” Ace asked with promise as he headed out of the firm’s revolving doors, smile wide and energetic like a child out for recess. He had untied the knot in his tie on the elevator ride down and was holding it powerlessly in his right hand.

That happy boundless energy, the light in Ace’s eyes over seeing his lover if only for an hour…Brandon knew he never needed to remind himself of how lucky he was, Ace’s presence was all the reminder he needed. “My gastrointestinal system needs a break from Indian food,” he chuckled as he gave Ace a soft peck to his lips. It annoyed him that a man raised on bland German and Irish cuisine could have such a taste for spice.

“Then Mizu it is,” compromised Ace. He slung an arm over Brandon’s shoulders just as Brandon snaked an arm around the small of his back, their minds and bodies so used to the position by now it was strange not to walk down the street that way. “This might have to be cut short,” Ace said, exasperation on thick to veil the disappointment in his voice. “The firm is working to wrangle in this new prospective client, some reality show, and we’ve got to put their proposal contract for the winner under a microscope to make sure it’s air-tight.”

“And, lovely intern,” Brandon joked, patting Ace playfully against his toned stomach but lingering there for much different reasons. “I assume you will be fetching the coffee?”

Ace chucked as they strode down Lexington Avenue; Brandon was well aware that the intensive internship Ace had landed at Davis, Fuller & Lythgoe gave him much more valuable experience than bringing the senior partners coffee, but that was what made the ongoing joke so effective. “As long as there are no cigars involved, I’ll do whatever they ask me to do here,” Ace laughed.

Brandon let his mind wander to wonderful, naughty places involving a naked Ace and a fine Cuban cigar as they rounded the corner on 30th Street, but decided to keep those thoughts to himself as his boyfriend might not fully appreciate them over sashimi. Suddenly Ace stopped their brisk pace, causing Brandon to start from the sudden movement and a few New Yorkers used to keeping with the flow of pedestrian traffic around them to mutter “tourists” under their breaths. He was about to ask what had gotten into Ace, why suddenly he had forgotten the unspoken laws of New York City streets after four years, but the tall, latte-skinned man who nearly rushed into the couple as they rounded the corner was his clear answer.

“Jared!” Ace said, startled but friendly, at the older man taller nearly than Ace, with a bald head and a pinstripe suit sharper than the corners hugging the Midtown East streets. He was one of those men that exuded confidence and charm, one that would have turned every head in Sin Sin if he weren’t also absurdly heterosexual, Brandon could almost sense that aura about him. “How’d you manage to get out of the office? Haven’t they locked all the junior partners in the boardroom for the rest of the week?”

The other man’s smile was easy and self-indulgent; Brandon could tell this Jared perfected that smile to melt women’s clothes off in front of his mirror all through his teen years. “I’m just out to pick up lunch for the office,” he replied, pointing down the street to Third Avenue, the office worker’s Mecca of quick, delicious foods of all nations. “They’ve got to feed us eventually, you know.”

He hadn’t noticed until he felt the cool shiver of a March wind up his back; Ace had detached himself from Brandon, a subversive, slithering thing, when he recognized the man they bumped into on the street as a junior partner of the firm. “Brandon, this is Jared, he’s kinda the superstar of the office. Makes me glad I don’t have my J.d yet or I’d be terrified to be in the courtroom against him.”

“Ah, man,” Jared chuckled, though certainly not quick to correct Ace for modesty’s sake.

Brandon waved hello to the man, half expecting the next words from Ace to be an introduction of Brandon to Jared as a “very good friend.” He had to imagine Ace’s sexuality wasn’t one of the topics thrown around the office, and although it wasn’t his preference Brandon had dated men before who left the boardroom and the bedroom far separated from each other. Ace was happy in their relationship, yes, but it might not be something he wanted to let blend into his professional life.

Ace was all smiles and not a bit of hesitation or worry when he presented the man next to him to his business colleague. “Jared, this is my boyfriend, Brandon,” he said, the words crisp as the March air as they hit Brandon’s ears.

There was the slightest startled flinch from Jared at Ace’s words, more from the surprise than anything emotional. Brandon reacted more than the other man from the words, tensing and jumping in his skin as Ace wrapped his comforting arm around his shoulders once again. It was so casual, so natural during any other time, but the Ace Brandon usually received this affection from wore faded T-shirts and beaten-up sneakers, not wingtips and tailored suits. This was Ace’s worlds colliding, melding together, and to Brandon it seemed that it was more of a shock to him than his boyfriend.

Jared stopped for a beat, allowed the image in front of him of his colleague romantically embracing another man to coincide with the image of the bright, optimistic young intern inside of the office he already knew. But just as soon as that flash of confusion came, it disappeared, a soft and sympathetic smile on his lips. He stretched his hand out towards Brandon; his grip was strong, not like he had something to prove, though he certainly did prove something to Brandon right there. “Nice to meet you, Brandon,” Jared gave a toothy grin as he shook Brandon’s hand once, twice, three hand shakes and a release. Brandon had been around long enough to know a straight man’s handshake when he saw one. “So you know Ace form Columbia?”

Still a bit dumbfounded to reply coherently, Brandon looked to his left for the response, to telepathically clear any and all answers with Ace first. Apparently the younger man got the message loud and clear; he answered instead, which was probably a good idea considering through his surprise Brandon had no idea how his voice would react. “We met at a play,” Ace said proudly; normally men like him would rather stick their finger into a socket than admit they love the theater. “Shakespeare, actually. Been together almost nine months now.”

“Our first date was eight months ago,” Brandon corrected him, the familiar and comfortable thing such as the night of their first date – something Brandon wouldn’t forget for a lifetime – bringing him back to sensibility.

Ace leaned in with an intimate smile. Brandon had to remind himself that Jared was still standing there because, damn, if that smile wasn’t asking for something. “Yeah,” Ace conceded, “but I count from the first moment I saw you.” A squeeze at his shoulder and a sparkle in those magnificent green eyes and it took all of Brandon’s willpower and decorum not to fuck Jared off, and just plain fuck Ace.

A none too subtle clearing of Jared’s throat brought the couple back to the here and now, back to Lexington Avenue and East 30th Street, where Ace essentially just came out to his coworker. The older man seemed unfazed; he looked down at his watch with one hand in his suit pants pocket. Brandon imagined Jared was posing for some terribly chic men’s catalog. “Well, I’ve got to pick up that order of curry for the office,” he announced; Ace gave a forlorn look at the mention of the spicy and delicious food that never agreed with his lover. “Time’s money, you know, and the client’s not paying us to stand on a street corner and chat.”

He felt the arm around his shoulders go a bit rigid, tighten in its hold: Ace, silently reminding Brandon of the universe’s love for curry. “I’ll catch you later, Ace,” Jared continued, with a friendly wave to the both of them. “It was good to meet you, Brandon.”

“Jared’s a great guy,” Ace qualified as they walked towards their lunch destination; Brandon hadn’t said anything since and neither had Ace, but the feelings were right there, bubbling underneath his skin like sparkling wine. Ace said, with no fear or hesitation, that Brandon was his boyfriend to someone who was very clearly in Ace’s professional world. And Ace didn’t give a damn if he knew. “He’s a bit more into the ‘entertainment’ part of entertainment law, but if the man’s got enough dedication to the field to get his J.d. and pass the bar, what do I care if he drops a name to get a table at Nobu?”

Brandon didn’t have to say anything; the look was all over Ace’s face. There was such an ease to his smile, the way his arm had wrapped around his shoulders like it belonged there forever. Instead, he tilted up his head to capture Ace’s lips in a kiss, right there in Lexington Avenue lunchtime traffic. He wanted to put all of the emotion he had for the other man into this kiss, everything he felt when Ace introduced him as his boyfriend, sealing both of their fates. He didn’t have to; the moment his lips touched Ace’s, a brief yet tender peck, Ace already knew.

“What was that for?” Ace asked, feigning innocence as he reached for Brandon’s hand with his own, entwining their fingers together like second nature.

Smiling, Brandon squeezed the younger man’s hand, smile so bright it could have powered Times Square. “That,” he replied. “Was for my boyfriend.”

***

          _May 2008_

Luke Menard didn't like hospitals. His senses were always on alert the moment the sanitary stench of antiseptic hit his nostrils; his skin prickled up in gooseflesh as a defense if he even saw the business end of an IV. He had his reasons to hate hospitals and they were damn good ones, but Brandon Rogers didn't know about any of them and Luke would probably prefer it that way. Hell, even Ace didn't know all the details and he was the closest friend Luke had at the firm; the other man just knew that Luke was a dedicated entertainment lawyer, through and through, and for some reason shivered at the chosen concentration of some of his law school colleagues to be ambulance chasers. 

He hated the waiting rooms even more, each tearstained, impatient face reminding him of his mother, his wife; but today, just for this day, he would brave the sickeningly white and sterile walls of the emergency room. Luke knew, without even having to guess, that Ace Young would have done the same thing for him. 

"So the message actually got through to _someone,_ " was Chris Daughtry's gruff welcome to the other man, giving a stiff nod before thinking better of it and reaching over to shake Luke's hand. Luke knew the officer in brief acquaintances but not as a friend of his own: he and Daughtry must have met a dozen times at parties and gatherings Ace and Brandon had, and although their conversations never went past the weather or the Mets' current disabled list, Daughtry's was a face that was hard to forget. "Your place really needs to get a better receptionist." 

Luke never really had anything bad to say about Kellie, she more often than not relayed his messages to him correctly and always told his in-laws he was at a meeting. Obviously when you were on the other side of that heavy, expensive oak reception desk, you were treated a bit differently. "Everyone in the office has heard," he said, not quite in the frame of mind to say into the air exactly what they had heard. "One of the senior partners themselves would have been here, but there's this big shakeup going on right now, they couldn't get away..." He bowed his head, not quite knowing why he felt the need to tell Daughtry all this. Perhaps he wanted to get it out now, to someone else, before he had to bring it all up with Brandon. 

Brandon...Luke saw him when he came in but he couldn't go over to him right away, couldn't think of what to say or do that would make the ordeal easier, make the deep pain so evident in his eyes hurt less. He had been sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, silent, with his head ducked forward and staring at the floor. Every now and again he raised his head to look at the clock, note how much time had progressed since the last time absolutely nothing happened, or look with a desperate gaze over to the nurses' station for some sort of answer. And when he did, that's when Luke saw it, the look in Brandon's eyes like he was a thread away from being a broken man. 

"Any news?" he turned back to Daughtry; by the time the words left his mouth he already had his answer by the grimace on Daughtry's face. There were quite a few people in the waiting area clearly awaiting news on Ace Young's condition: Luke recognized Daughtry, of course, and the blond man at Brandon's side, trying in vain to raise the tiniest of spirits in his friend at the moment, was a familiar face in the couple's circle of friends but Luke couldn't recall his name. Two other young men stood farther back from Brandon, with dark, olive-toned skin and worried glances in the older man's direction, their hushed conversation in Spanish in whispers; they looked sympathetic and eager to help with Brandon's pain, but too wary to even know where to begin. 

They were all set on springs, waiting to jump at the first mention of Ace's name by anyone passing through those emergency room doors. Luke almost felt late to the party, like he should have worry stored up in his bones and be chastised for leaving the others with that burden, but at least he had a good reason for it. 

Daughtry filled him in on the details they gleaned from Brandon's conversation with Ryan; Luke wanted to interject and say it was a good sign Ace was strong enough for surgery, lay the optimism on thick because it had been drained out of the room like a sieve. But there was a hollow response from Daughtry before he could, that Ryan's phone call had been over an hour ago, and Luke knew that anything could have happened to Ace since then. 

"Tell me there's some crazy, never-used legal loophole here, Luke," Daughtry's voice was weary from the wait and the strain of worrying, and there were bags under his eyes that were darkening along with the sky. "I get that I've got nothing here; hell, if they let strangers in to see victims it'd make my job a lot harder." He looked over at Brandon, and Luke couldn't help but follow his gaze there. "But he is no stranger. And Ace wouldn't ever stand for him not knowing." 

Luke knew the answer to Daughtry's question, it had been the reason he lingered in the office rather than rushing down to the hospital the moment he heard the news. But it was something that the love of Ace's life should be told long before his best friend. "Let me go say hello first," Luke made his excuse, though he doubted "hello" were the words Brandon wanted to hear.

Brandon didn't need to ask when Luke had arrived, or even his reasons for coming; his mind wasn't allowing himself to detract from his one thought at hand. He didn't even look towards the other man as he sank into the seat quickly vacated by Blake, the journalist at a loss because for once his words weren't doing a damn thing. Brandon was getting rather good at tuning Blake out, considering him more part of the white noise of the rest of the emergency room; he wished Blake would do something more than ask Brandon if he wanted coffee or something to eat or for Blake to do _anything_ , because the only thing Brandon's heart ached for was the one thing out of everyone's reach. He expected Luke to ask the same – everyone had been doing so, though David was a bit more original and asked if Brandon wanted him to smuggle some whiskey into the place – but the other man stayed silent, waiting for Brandon to ask the first question.

He finally turned to him; Luke was amazed to see up close how stress can instantly age a person, how the lines in Brandon's face were cut deeper now with worry. "Thank you for being here," those were his words, Brandon could recognize his own voice saying them, but there was nothing behind it, everything was running automatically on what he should be saying and acting, but never _feeling_. "I know he'd appreciate it if he knew."

They were close, as close as Luke had gotten to anyone else at the firm; he had secured confidences in the younger man, and in turn Ace had told him secrets not even his own mother knew. Luke knew more to this story possibly than anyone else there. "He'd just be happy we both got out of working the Hudson case for an entire afternoon," he tried to bring in some levity but there was no room for it on Brandon's face, his solemn expression never wavering. "Are...are you being informed..." He asked on a more serious note; he was about to ask if Brandon was okay but his common sense told him to hold his tongue, it was pretty clear he was not.

"I don't..." Brandon's eyes went glassy; his hand gripped the armrest of the seat, knuckles turning pale in frustration. "They can't..." It was tough for him even to say the words anymore, to admit that he and Ace had made such a tragic mistake and now he was shut out from the most important information of his life, if his lover was going to live or die. He shook his head, resting it back into his hands. "We never handed in the health care proxy papers," it came out as a whisper but Luke heard it clear as a wail; he frowned, knowing the news he'd give wouldn't be any better.

There was good reason Luke didn't go into medical law or malpractice, and it was that the cases were too damn personal. It was easy enough to simplify entertainment contract law to two names on a sheet of paper, but it was far different when those names were on sheets listed as health care proxies or executors of wills, or claimants on wrongful death. Ace always told Luke he turned down medical law for the same reasons; it was too difficult to separate yourself from a grieving loved one. "That means you can't make any of Ace's medical decisions," he explained to Brandon; it would have also been a tenuous but existent foothold for him to assert that he had a right to Ace's conditions, that he had a right to know about his lover.

"It means a lot of things," was Brandon's hollow reply. It meant there was nothing connecting him to Ace legally, that he might as well have been a stranger walking into St. Vincent's, demanding to know about his health. His heart wanted to beg for another alternative, but his brain was in despair, knowing there were none.

Luke nodded his head silently; if it were anything else he could give words of encouragement to Brandon, stir blinding optimism into the stew of emotions running through this circle of friends. He was good at that sort of thing, his wife called it a warmth inside him that could bake bread on a stone, his friends called it a cheerfulness quite unbecoming of a lawyer. But this was a topic close in his memory, it was an issue he had brought up to Ace not too long ago about the permanence of his and Brandon's relationship. He was one of the few people Ace considered close friends to know he had proposed; hell, he had even brought it up to Ace, though not in so formal a way, after cursory research on marriage rights and a conversation with Ace quickly telling Luke he and Brandon were in it for the long haul. Ace had mentioned, anxious smile of a boy on his birthday, when he was going to pop that question, make that leap, but when the day came and passed, Ace said nothing, and Luke knew better than to ask.

"You don't have any documentation," it was more of a statement than a question, Luke already knew the answer from Ace months ago. "No civil union papers, no domestic partnership registration..." Brandon shook his head, turned away from the other man and sighed, his breath deep and ragged, like he was holding back a sob. "And your name isn't on any of Ace's health forms."

"Common law?" Brandon asked; the slightest accent of hope in his tone was wearing very thin. "We've been living together almost six years now -"

"Not since the 30s," Luke shot the idea down quickly, having already asked an old friend from law school about the subject, a brassy, joyful woman by the name of Kim Locke who excelled in marriage – and divorce – litigation. He had a feeling the information would prove to be vital here. He didn't want to give Brandon any false hope about obscure laws or loopholes: he had done his research, both now and back when Ace needed the information, and Brandon didn't have much recourse in this situation. He had an emergency room full of supporters and friends, but in this, he was all alone.

He dropped his head into his hands; the scuffed patterns on the cheap tiled floors were easier to look at than the concerned faces of his friends, easier to focus on, compose himself with. "I just want to see him, Luke," he said between his palms. The initial shock was turning into frustration, his helplessness cutting deep, but that fear of not knowing, of just sitting there while Ace was somewhere in that hospital, hurt and alone, stayed with him still. "I need to know if he's okay."

Luke hated to be the bearer of bad news but he was the only one do to it then, and it wouldn't be any help to Brandon's well-being to give him false hope. "Legally, you're not connected to Ace at all. You'll have to wait for someone on his health records to allow the hospital to release that information to you." It was so sickeningly formal, sounded so impersonal to Luke's ears that he felt offended even saying it to Brandon.

"His mom and dad," said Brandon. Ace's father had called, the kind, soft-spoken voice Brandon had gotten to know so well now strained, miserable, the tone seeming to have aged years in the one day. They were both on their way, catching the first and fastest flight to La Guardia Airport they could find and praying they find a cabbie with scant respect for red lights once they arrived. But it would still be hours until they landed, and the one thing Brandon could say with certainty was that time was not something any of them could afford.

"Or Ace himself," Luke reminded him, but it only made Brandon's mind dwell more on the fear that Ace awakening from this ordeal might not happen for hours...and the even graver alternative, he wouldn't allow himself to consider. Luke was glad he chose a law concentration that didn't place him among matters of life and death; he couldn't imagine handing this news over to countless others, day in and day out, as a profession. It was bad enough to see the torturous look cross Brandon's face as he shot down any legal hope Brandon had of seeing Ace soon.

The clock was staring Luke back in the face, a grimy, plain dial that reminded him that, while the senior partners were completely sympathetic to Ace's condition and were willing to give him as much time as needed to recover, Luke was still expected back to the office, not immune to the corporate pull of the Hudson account. Besides, Ace Young was a man who easily made friends; the rest of the office would want to know how he was doing the moment Luke walked through that door. At least in the office, he'd be surrounded by those who theoretically knew and understood the legal ramifications of Brandon's situation.

He put a comforting hand on Brandon's shoulder, feeling the tension there that he knew wouldn't ease until Ace was back in Brandon's arms. "Call me when there's any news," he implored, feeling pity and sympathy for his friend. "And if you have any more trouble, let me know. You may not be able to see Ace right now, but you still have your civil rights, and so does Ace."

"They'll be here soon," Blake spoke up; he had been watching the conversation, pacing in his way when he doesn't know what else to do to alleviate the stress, gauging carefully the pained look on Brandon's face as he talked with Luke. Ace's parents...it would be a few hours until they could be there, but that point in time was at least foreseeable, there was a light at the end of Brandon's dark, tragic tunnel.

But to Brandon that tunnel was darker, and deeper than he could have ever imagined or feared. He kept the decaying, harmful thoughts to himself and away from the others, but that ache in his heart told him that it couldn't be soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third Avenue in the East 30’s is known as [Murray Hill](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murray_Hill,_Manhattan) officially and “Curry Hill” affectionately because of all the Indian restaurants in the area. It’s an area that has the perfect storm of cheap, delicious varieties of food and large office buildings from Park Avenue South and east. Assuming Indian food isn’t widespread in Colorado, when Ace moves to New York I imagine he would be as adventurous as possible with his meal selection. “Curry In A Hurry” and “Mizu” are both real restaurants in the neighborhood, though they both suffer from inflated hype and aren’t as good as smaller, less popular places in the area.
> 
> One major rule of walking the streets of New York City: don’t stop suddenly, whether to tie your shoes or look up at a skyscraper, because you will disrupt whoever was walking behind you and you will be labeled a tourist. :-P
> 
> I tried to do as much research into New York State law on marriage and civil partnerships as I could manage without heading down to the library (bad librarian!), and as far as I know everything Luke says is true. [Common Law Marriage](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common-law_marriage_in_the_United_States#Availability_by_state), while legal in 17 states, hasn’t been available to New Yorkers for over half a century. Only family members or individuals listed on health care proxies (who usually are next of kin anyway) can find out information about a patient due to confidentiality laws (as per my momma, hee) or expressed consent from the patient himself. If there is no health care proxy, it becomes a dicey game of next-of-kin regarding who can make the medical decisions for the patient.


	8. Chapter 8

          _May 2002_

"Oh, _fuck_ Ace, you feel so good -"

" _There_. Don't stop." Ace was keening now, panting into the pillow without a care for Brandon's neighbors. Brandon loved knowing he could unhinge him like that almost as much as he loved how being inside Ace made him feel; so good he imagined he could touch heaven. 

"God, oh _God_..." 

Ace could feel Brandon's body tensing, the grip of strong hands tightening on his forearms, trembling fingers kneading tiny half-moons into Ace's skin. "If you stop fucking me now I'm not speaking to you for a week," he warned the man above him. Brandon knew Ace would never make good on that threat but it was enough to slow down that tight, winding feeling in his gut like a coiling spring. He pushed in harder, deeper into Ace, the heat of the other man's body the only furnace he needed when the heat in his apartment had mysteriously tanked for three days back in February. 

He leaned down, angling his body, until his lips could brush against the sweat-slicked skin stretched across his lover's back, shoulder blades a warm golden hue, inviting enough to taste. "I wouldn't..." he accented each word with a thrust, and his voice was drowned out by Ace's moans at the new angle, the ferocity. "Even think..." He could feel Ace coming undone underneath him, shaking, hips bucking into the bedspread and up against Brandon's balls, the slapping sound loud against the small apartment's walls. "...of coming first, love." 

The body underneath him stiffened, spasmed, Ace's mouth open in a silent shout of ecstasy. That's what I like to see, he thought, grin pressed against the skin of Ace's back as he came deep inside his lover, the rush of emotion, both physical and something deeper, rawer than that, overtaking him. He licked at the salty flesh, nipped at the back of Ace's neck before resting his head in between the shoulder blades, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's chest. He could feel the breath coming in and out of Ace's body, his heart beat as they cooled down, both men reluctant to separate. 

But their afterglow wasn't meant to last long. "I've got to go soon," Ace said, shifting underneath Brandon until they lay side by side on the tiny mattress, pressed against each other, sticky with sweat but neither man caring. He was still catching his breath, his eyes still open only to floating stars and the sight of Brandon next to him, but his voice was laced with sadness. He stroked a thumb across Brandon's cheekbone, the look in his eyes genuinely sorry he had to leave. 

Brandon’s clock radio – the one that usually produced more static than sound – was playing faintly on Z100 as they lay there, turned on originally to drown out their lovemaking for the sake of Brandon’s neighbors but somehow always seemed to fall short of its objective. Daniel Bedingfield’s voice came shining through but Brandon didn’t notice it at all over the sound of their heart sinking.

_If you’re not for me then why does my hand fit yours this way_

The arms around Ace's chest tightened instinctively. "You sure you can walk after that?" he said playfully, but his tone was unmistakable to Ace: soft, and saddened, two clicks away from begging his lover to stay a little while longer. 

Ace spread his lips into a smile like he wanted to laugh, but his thoughts were preoccupied with something else. He should have never come over, never accepted the invitation to join Brandon at home after their dinner to celebrate Ace's final course in his undergraduate career when he had so many things to accomplish the next morning. But it was all very easy to chide himself the next morning when all of his tasks were upon him; last night, with Brandon's eager eyes and waiting bed, Ace simply couldn't say no. 

_I don’t want to run away but I can’t take it_

"I've got a meeting with my advisor over the classes I'll need for next semester," he said; he slid away from Brandon on the bed, to the silent protests in his lover's eyes, in search of his discarded jeans from the night before. When meeting with one's academic advisor for the upcoming first semester in law school, one should typically be wearing pants. "And then I have an exit interview for my scholarship, I really can't get out of that. And I should really start looking at apartments, there's no way they'll let me stay in the dorms for law school and I'd rather not turn down Columbia Law because I'm homeless..." 

_If I’m not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am_

"Stay." Brandon's plea sounded feeble but it hit Ace hard, he knew the meaning behind that one word and the emotion the other man felt that was masked by a subtle, soft post-coital haze. 

In all truthfulness, Brandon had asked for more in the past and Ace was more than happy to oblige: a wink, a tiny smile, even the hint of a glimmer in darkening brown eyes and Ace was quickly putty in his boyfriend's hand. It never took him much convincing to get back into a warm bed with Brandon beside him, even if it was just a press of skin against skin and a kiss pressed to the back of his neck as they fell back asleep. But these things were unavoidable, the mundane experiences of real adult life beginning to bear down upon Ace, and although he didn't like leaving Brandon alone, naked and wanting in his bed, there was not much he could do to prevent it. Besides, the 1 was a fickle, temperamental train, particularly after last September, and Ace could never trust that the trip from Brandon's apartment in Chelsea back to his dorm in Morningside Heights would only take 35 minutes. 

After finding his pants dangling precariously off a table lamp, Ace came back to his lover on the bed, leaning over his frame, his chestnut hair framing a penitent face with the light of the May sunshine streaming in. Brandon couldn't help but sigh longingly at the sight hovering above him; Ace had been toying with the idea of shearing it off for a more conservative, mature look to start off law school, but Brandon wouldn't hear any of it, would be devastated at the thought of not being able to thread his fingers through the thick mane. He reached up to touch a tiny bit of that heaven just as Ace reached down, pressing a palm to Brandon's chest, holding it there, above the heart. It was enough of a sight to make Ace want to leap back into bed, forget about the meetings, and reconsider law school altogether to pursue making love to Brandon Rogers full-time. 

_I never know what the future brings  
          But I know you’re here with me now_

"I want to," Ace's voice was earnest and Brandon lying there on the bed wasn't making it any easier to have conviction. He pressed his fingertips down a bit deeper, feeling the beat of Brandon's heart underneath. "Believe me, I want to. But I've got to make sure everything's set for next semester, I don't want any problems going in." Ace had heard horror stories from colleagues at the firm of the ones that never made it past the first semester of law school. The ones who hadn't done their first legal test of crossing their t's and dotting their i's on every form necessary, who went home on red tape technicalities even before their first litigation lecture, never to be heard from again. Ace certainly didn't want his education to be curtailed before it even began, and he'd work minimum wage at Starbucks before he went back to living with his parents in Colorado.

Ace had slipped his jeans on and was halfway to finding his socks when Brandon sat up in bed, forearms resting atop his knees casually though his serious expression implied anything but. "Stay," he said again, but the inflection was different from before, the older man no longer asking for a mere half hour more of sleeping in. 

This was something more and Ace could feel it; he turned around, face apologetic, arms open in a shrug. "Brandon -" he began, but the other man cut him off.

"I don't mean stay right now," he explained, voice soft and smooth and the only thing in Ace's ears and attentions. "I know those meetings are important. I mean..." He opened his arms up, showing off the one room that made up his small yet cozy and comfortable apartment. "Stay. Stay here. It'll be murder looking for an apartment in the city, and even if you do find one, it'll cost way more in rent than it's worth, I can tell you that right now." And it wouldn't have me in it, he wanted to add, but from the look on Ace's face his boyfriend had already gathered that information on his own.

The younger man smiled, ducking his head; blushed. There was an excitement to Brandon's tone, that page-turning feeling from a best-selling thriller when you're just about to discover who murdered the mayor’s daughter and framed the lounge singer, that made Ace realize there was more to Brandon's invitation than he was letting on. It also made him think that, just maybe, Brandon had been thinking about this for quite a while and only now thought to bring it up to him, waiting for the right time to mention it.

"That...that would be nice," he said, an understatement that even the refrigerator could recognize. Everything Brandon had said would be true, but they weren't the only reasons the older man wanted to share an apartment with Ace. They had been together for almost a year now and neither man could have been happier. Ace was realizing how simple it felt, how effortless it was to love Brandon and let him into his heart, and that this was what it really meant to be happy; Brandon couldn't have been more pleased waking up next to the younger man as much as he did, finding someone to talk with and share without the fear that one day it would all disappear.

_And I pray that you’re the one I build my home with_

A nervous laugh came from Ace's throat; he scratched his head, steeling himself when he wanted to jump into his lover's arms. "You know, I've never...shared a place with someone. Besides Elliott, of course." Moving in together would be a big step for the both of them: neither man had ever been with someone in such a way before, and it was exhilarating just to think about.

"Neither have I," replied Brandon, who patted the small portion of empty mattress Ace had unceremoniously left behind when he began the search for his clothes. Ace knew it was a trap, knew once he got back into bed with Brandon no amount of clothing or urgent meetings would pry him out again, but he complied anyway, squeezing himself into the space on the twin bed like a Tetris piece, a key to their puzzle. "And Elliott doesn't count, anyway." He wrapped his arms around the younger man, knowing he would have to relinquish him soon to the inevitable duties of the day, but at least not for long. "Unless you're sleeping with him."

This brought out a laugh from Ace; Brandon felt the vibrations his laughter made as he held him, reveling in their closeness. "It'll be small," Ace said after a time, reminding his boyfriend that his apartment was no palace. But, he considered, neither would be any apartment he was planning to find, especially on the paltry stipend he'd be receiving, and it would be preferable to asking his parents for money. "We'll be on top of each other all the time."

"And the problem there would be?" Brandon knew it wouldn't be the perfect arrangement but it was all he could offer to his love, to the man he wanted to offer the world. He pressed his lips to Ace's temple, threading his fingers through soft, long chestnut hair. "We'll manage; whatever needs to happen, will happen." He had never been a true champion of fate but Ace was making him slowly rethink those values, making him consider that there was something else besides fair weather and dumb luck that brought them together almost a year ago. There was nothing that felt more right than the weight and the feel of this man in his arms, and the thought that he could wake up to him every morning like this warmed him like nothing else.

The apartment was indeed too small for them - the studio was too small for Brandon himself to begin with but adding Ace made the place cramped, closets packed and every shelf without an inch of storage left to its name. Within the apartment the couple could find little escape away from the clutter and learned to fashion lives around the mess, the constricted feeling within the apartment only bringing them closer together. When Ace felt near the end of his smoldering candlewick from studying, Brandon always knew the right times to let him be with his thoughts and troubles, and when to step in with a comforting cup of tea and a soft kiss of encouragement. And when Brandon was close to the edge, allowing the stresses of every day to bundle and weigh him down like ballast, Ace knew the best way to soothe his lover's frayed nerves with strong yet gentle hands massaging the tension from his shoulders and soft, calming words whispered into his lover's ear.

Ace nestled in closer to Brandon's body, knowing time would have to inevitably be made for those dreaded meetings, but keeping this moment for a little while longer. There were definite issues with moving in with Brandon, and surely there would be bumps along the way, but as he felt the heart beat true beside him and soft, smiling lips against his skin, Ace knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

_And I hope that you’re the one I share my life with_

***

_May 2008_

_There used to be a hand there._

Brandon had a tendency to react frantically in moments of crisis. He would nervously bite fingernails down to the quick, allowing rather minor issues of stress to unfurl like a mushroom cloud in his mind, effectively blowing them out of proportion. His friends came to him for advice and guidance on a number of topics, from the sometimes critical state of Blake's love life to which pair of shoes in David's collection could be best described as "butch". He loved that he could be counted on for those things, that his friends considered him a source of caring and knowledge, but when it came to crucial matters Brandon was the one looking to others for help.

For nearly seven years he didn't have to look far.

The calming factor in his life was Ace, had always been Ace; their different ways of thinking and dealing with problems complimented each other, balanced each other perfectly in times of both peace and turmoil. Ace's law education trained his mind to think logically and systematically, having the faith in his truth that the solution to a problem could be found, and there was no need to worry. Brandon always dwelled more on the emotional, letting his feelings cloud judgment or methods to a madness. He shied away from change that could lead to discomfort or sadness; he had been burned by embracing change before.

Ace's optimistic nature calmed him during the times when problems seemed overwhelming, and his words and love neutralized Brandon's defense mechanisms. The younger man knew all of the signals Brandon gave off like a beacon when he would begin to get frantic, or start taking a cynical, fatalist view of things; Brandon always said it was a trait all New Yorkers were born with, that he focused on the cloud instead of any silver lining. And the moment he crossed that line into working himself up over an issue, Ace was right there, with soft, encouraging words of love into Brandon's ear, only for him, and large hands to knead away the tension built into the muscles around Brandon's neck and shoulders. Ace always knew the exact way to soothe Brandon's nerves, and in turn Brandon pushed Ace past his analytical thinking, reminded him that even though New Yorkers were born cynics - and despite Ace merely being a transplant, he was crabbier about Manhattan traffic than Brandon ever was - it did not stop them from coming out of their apartment to _live_.

But now the crisis _was_ Ace, it was his health and knowing about his condition and the fight he was now making, hurt and alone, to stay alive; to _live_. And although Blake was generous to the point of irritation in attending to any of Brandon's needs, and Daughtry was being comforting in his own way, trying to take on the frustration and anger for the entire group, it did nothing to relieve the burning hole in Brandon's chest, that fuzzy, clogged feeling in his head that took all of his willpower to suppress the urge to cry. Ace wasn't there to touch in all the right spots to melt that tension away; the voice in his ear with soft, loving words of support was silent.

He reached his hand up to the muscle above his collarbone, already taut and sore from the stress - it was the first place Ace knew to go - and thought with a sinking feeling, _there used to be a hand here._

He had to get out of there, out of that seat he was sinking into by the moment and stewing in his feelings. Out of the waiting room where waiting was all he could do, where the smell of cleaning fluid and cold sanitation was engulfing him, nearly seeping in through his skin and making him feel even worse. And he had to get away from his friends, all these caring people, who meant well and wanted to relieve Brandon of at least some of the pain, but inside he knew nothing any of them could do would help.

As he rose from his seat Blake went to attend to him, like a home health aide to the terminally ill. Blake meant well and Brandon knew it, understood that the intention to help was there and he knew that was the reason he asked for him to be there in the first place, but he still couldn't do anything about it regardless of how hard he tried. He asked if Brandon needed anything and immediately offered to get it; it was surprising to Brandon how faraway Blake's voice sounded, he could see a thin line of his lips moving but the sound was muffled by the thoughts running through Brandon's head. He waved Blake off, claiming that he just needed to get some air.

Brandon hadn't looked him in the eye but Blake saw the turmoil written all over Brandon's face, and knew that there was only so much he could offer.

He took a step outside of the emergency room doors just as another figure in dark navy breezed in; the outside air hit him like a wave, warm with the smog and moisture of a May afternoon threatening thunderstorms overhead. The blaring horns from taxicabs caught up in early evening traffic on 14th Street traveled south to the hospital faster than the actual traffic, and if Brandon had been in an inquisitive kind of mood he would have wondered how the rest of the world would be enjoying the upcoming weekend. The heavy metal doors of St. Vincent's emergency room seemed to have deadened the sounds from outside the hospital's walls, and the air was sour and humid compared to the sterile, stabilized air conditioning atmosphere inside the ER. It felt stifling but familiar to Brandon as his body grew accustomed yet again to the conditions around him; it felt comfortable, _real_ , the atmosphere of the May in New York City in which he fell in love. He couldn't feel any of that inside that waiting room, couldn't feel _Ace_.

Out here he was able to think, to clear his mind of the constant buzz of hospital machines and telephone calls that weren't meant for him and would give him no peace. But when the muddle in his mind calmed to one burning thought, it was Ace on his mind, only Ace, and the knowledge that he was _somewhere_ inside that hospital yet he couldn't get to him hit harder when it was the only thing on his mind. His fists clenched but his entire body felt numb - a form of shock, he was sure of it, but it was a feeling of dead weight, of the _absence_ of feeling, and it was something he hadn't dealt with for nearly seven years since he had met the man he loved.

But the thoughts that paralyzed him were also the ones that kept him going: Ace was hurt and in trouble and Brandon couldn't get to him, couldn't do a damn thing about it in the eyes of the law. But he also knew that Ace was there, alive, he could feel it, and at any time this hellish state of limbo could be lifted and he would need Brandon to be there for him, to support him, to love him. Brandon wanted to break down and cry, let the crisis overwhelm him because that was his way; but he knew Ace would need him to be strong, and he'd be no help to his lover if he was a sniffling, sobbing mess when he woke up.

Brandon refused to allow himself to think of the words _if he woke up_.

With a glimmer of the last rays of May sunshine glinting off the chrome of an ambulance and into the corner of Brandon's eye, he caught his reflection in the darkly tinted windows of the truck: dark-toned face ashen and sunken in from stress, eyes puffy from the tears he refused to shed. He saw a man on the edge in that reflection, tense and ready to break with the lightest touch, like the thinnest layer of frost and ice, like glass. But deeper than the lines and the creases the stress of that day placed on his skin, deeper than the surface of his appearance he saw his confidence, his strength; he saw the man Ace Young fell in love with, and now counted upon. The thought of his love kept Brandon going on a day where all he wished to do was hide; it was keeping them _both_ going.

***

Chris Richardson entered the hospital’s emergency waiting room, holding the door open for a figure that breezed by, the dim, unnatural fluorescent lighting darkening the world behind mirrored aviator glasses. He searched through the fog of artificial darkness but could find no familiar faces; it must be the sunglasses, he thought, whipping them off and storing them carefully in the breast pocket of his navy colored uniform. St. Vincent's emergency room had to be the place, he had listened to his boyfriend's frantic voicemail message at least a dozen times over and was as sure as the badge on his belt this was the place.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the light, the distant but ever-present hum of machines dulling every other sense and making everything seem distant, like Chris was peering into a fishbowl full of people. He never had to bring any suspects or victims to the hospital, fortunately - his partner Phil Stacey always added the "yet" to that statement, always reminded Chris that the older officer had been on the job for far longer and had seen the effects on a body of a platform fall into the oncoming path of an R train. And the only other times he ventured into an emergency waiting room were for joyful moments: his father pulling out of an uncomplicated gallbladder surgery laughing and requesting real food, the birth of his niece and nephew, the happy news he received the last time he visited Virginia of his sister's latest successful sonogram. This, however, was not one of those times, and Chris's body already seemed to know it: instead of that swell of emotion in his heart at first seeing Morgan or Jackson in his sister's arms, his heart was beating low in his throat, his stomach cold over the ominous news he felt was sure to come.

The first person to enter into his line of focusing vision was leaning against the scrubbed white wall of the large room, head ducked and arms crossed in front of his chest, his clothes unkempt and dark hair uncharacteristically messy: he wasn't the first person Chris wanted to see there, not by a longshot, but at this stage he was relieved to see anyone he could recognize. "David," he said to the familiar face, striding over in long, purposeful steps; David Hernandez stood up straight, startled to hear Chris's voice and even more startled to hear his name coming from that voice. "What happened? Is Ace okay? What -"

"Are you still on duty?" the other man interrupted, breaking Chris's thought pattern. David's eyes were transfixed on Chris's body, and the officer's gaze followed them to his uniform: David had apparently never seen Chris in patrol uniform before, the heavy cotton accenting the definition in Chris's frame, the short sleeves of the summer uniform tight against muscle and skin. The tall, solid officer's usually gentle and humble personality was hidden by the swaths of navy blue and the brass badge on his belt, not to mention the firearm and handcuffs: he held a no-nonsense air to him in this uniform, something masculine and raw, the kind of power one usually pays premium cash for at Toys in Babeland.

Chris noticed the look in David's eyes, the one Blake said was nearly permanent when it came to David Hernandez, then watched it fade away as the other man shook his head, quickly reminding himself that this was his best friend's man, and as stunning as he may have been in uniform, ogling was extremely off-limits. "I just came from work," Chris explained; he quickly tried to get the conversation back to the urgent topic at hand. If David was already here, Chris doubted it was to hit on hospital visitors. "Have you heard anything?"

David grew serious, the mention once again of why they were all gathered there hitting him hard, sobering him. "I don't know what Blake had told you in the message," he began.

"Just that Ace had been in an accident," Chris played the voicemail so many times he could hear the tinge of fear in Blake's voice in his head, running on loop. "That he's in surgery, and no one knows the outcome yet."

Nodding glumly, David replied with a somber tone. "Then you know everything we know." David quickly relayed to him the events of the late afternoon, how all the information about Ace was being withheld until his parents arrived, and how not even the most desperate pleading was helping to sway the hospital staff.

"If Brandon were Ace's long-term _girlfriend_ ," David added in with malice, eyes shifting over to the nurses' station accusingly. "I bet none of this would even be a problem."

 _Brandon_. Chris's mind had been occupied with worry over Ace, but the mention of Ace's lover brought on a whole new set of thoughts. However hard it was for the rest of Ace's friends not to know about his condition, it must have hurt tenfold for Brandon. Chris remembered the first time he met the couple, on a double date in Little Italy with Blake that felt more like an approval meeting; there was something about the two, right away, just an air about them when they were with each other that told Chris immediately that Brandon and Ace were soulmates. And later that first night over drinks, when Chris was left alone with Ace, knowing the other two were analyzing him in a corner somewhere, he saw the older man's face light up with love as he said without hesitation that he'd be lucky to spend the rest of his life with Brandon Rogers.

His mind fleetingly fell upon the idea of something as terrible happening to Blake, and his blood ran cold at the mere thought.

"How is he holding up?" he asked, both men knowing without it being mentioned that Chris meant how Brandon was surviving and not Ace. 

A strange look crossed David's face, one of concern; fear. "I've...never seen him like this before," he admitted in a low voice, shaking his head. He never knew Brandon before he met Ace: in his eyes they were like two parts to a whole, their lives simply not existing before one met the other. Now it was like that whole had been ripped apart, leaving an emptiness in its wake that was so evident on Brandon's face it caused David to shudder. "He won't talk, but he won't cry, either. He's just..." David tried to find the words, hoping the officer would understand. "He's just not _Brandon_ without Ace."

Something caught David's eye behind Chris's head; his eyes quickly darted from Chris to behind him, a bemused expression on his face. "Don't follow him, Blake," he called after a retreating figure, almost through the emergency room doors. "Brandon said he needed some air, he'd probably prefer it without you hovering around him out there, too."

The blonde turned around towards David, a quick retort on his lips about how _David_ wasn't the one Brandon called first to help him in this crisis, it was _Blake_ and he wasn't going to let his friend down on that account. But the words were never uttered, breathed out and dissipated like hot exhalations on a winter day, the moment Blake turned and saw Chris standing in the emergency room. A wave of emotions swept over him, stopped him in his path to the door, and his fingers curled and itched to touch the officer, immediately feel the warmth and comfort he knew to be in those arms. He wasn't delusional, he knew that nothing about the situation would change with Chris's arrival, but it made Blake feel relieved nonetheless to see him there, and feel his presence in the waiting room.

With a soft, inaudible whisper of the officer's name on his lips, Blake quickly changed his course from the emergency room entrance to where Chris and David were standing, the activist searching for sanity in the other man. Chris embraced him fully when Blake finally reached him, never shrinking away from his boyfriend's affections, never again. He felt the tension winding up in Blake's body like a bent wire, that uncertainty and stress over a friend had been building up for hours now where Chris only felt it for a short time. He wished he could take Blake away from this, tell corny jokes and insult his fashion sense just to see him smile again the way Chris loves. He wished he could turn back the clock for all of his friends here, especially Ace and Brandon, so that this horrific day would never happen.

But Chris Richardson had no superpowers, couldn't physically change the events of the day, and sadly this small comfort was all that he could give.

"I came as soon as I got the message," Chris said into Blake's hair, usually impeccably spiked and styled but forgotten due to the day's events. He felt Blake's hold tighten around his waist at the sound of his voice; he pressed a kiss to Blake's temple, happy to put even the tiniest bit of his boyfriend's mind at peace. "Never get any reception in the subway tunnels..." he explained. It wasn't like he had been avoiding or putting off getting to the hospital, and he wanted Blake to know that as well. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here earlier..."

"You're here now," Blake said emphatically, reveling in the familiar feel of being in Chris's arms, allowing it to ground him in a room where he had been nervously pacing and jittery for hours. The rough cotton felt foreign against Blake's skin; he had never touched his boyfriend's uniform before, never felt the harsh texture that conflicted from the soft, honeyed Southern demeanor of its owner. It was quite a sight to behold, the muscular and deeply masculine side to his boyfriend wrapped up in a package of navy cotton, and he knew men like Chris were the stuff gay men's fantasies were made of, complete with his own Village People persona. But none of that amounted to Blake's Chris, the man he had grown to know over the past two months, the one that pretended not to cry while watching _Stand By Me_ and laughed, uninhibited and unafraid, at all of Blake's corny puns.  That was the man Blake was falling for more every day; that was who comforted him right now.

An audible and deliberate cough came from beside them; David Hernandez was only a champion of public displays of affection if it involved himself. Blake and Chris separated out of modesty but not out of want; Blake still found himself reaching out to the younger man, a press of his fingertip against a wrist here, a pull of a loose thread there, just to keep their connection. "I wasn't the first one here either, anyway," Blake continued. "Daughtry was the one who called me, he's been here the whole time."

Looking around the waiting room quickly, Blake's eyes caught upon who he was looking for and motioned over to the figure in the corner of the room. Chris's eyes were better adjusted to the fluorescent lights now, and the features of this new person were becoming clearer to him as he strode forward, beckoned by Blake. Rather short, a bald head that reflected the lighting overhead, dark eyes and a scowl but with lines around his mouth and eyes acting as previous paths to his many smiles. He looked strangely familiar to Chris, though he couldn't place where...

Suddenly the man's gait, slow and rhythmic and slightly bowlegged, brought images rushing to Chris's mind, memories of a brief conversation he had long ago with a man he thought would always be a stranger. The Daughtry that was approaching Chris and Blake wasn't easily recognized by the officer, but imagine a pair of mirrored aviators shielding his eyes, a polished equestrian helmet on his head, and a chestnut-colored gelding underneath him, and instantly Chris remembered him as the mounted police officer he spoke with on St. Patrick's Day parade duty the previous year.

Chris's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes going wide with a fear he thought he had conquered. This Daughtry character was a _cop_ , an officer Chris knew very little about and could very well be one of the many in blue he had hidden his true self from for years, and here Chris was in full rookie uniform and regalia, embracing and kissing his radical journalist boyfriend in the middle of a public emergency room. His body froze to the spot, his old fears of being outed to the force rising once again; he had been working diligently on dealing with his sexuality and being open about who he was, to more than just a select few friends and to Blake, but it had all been on his terms at the pace he designated. But with Officer Daughtry staring him in the face like this, it felt like March 17th all over again, the threat of being exposed pressing into him like the barrel of a pistol to the back of his head.

The officer's sudden change in stature and demeanor was so sudden and so palpable that it radiated from his body; Blake could feel it beside him, coming on faster than a thunderstorm in summer. He had been around the block enough times to recognize that look in his boyfriend's eyes, the look of a man's mind running scared. Chris had problems for years about coming to terms with his sexuality, letting others in on the part of his life he once desperately thought needed to be a secret. It had taken meeting journalist and gay activist Blake Lewis at the St. Patrick's Day Parade - and almost losing him as well - to jolt his sensibilities and realize the wicked circle he was in, and how miserable his life was when he lied to everyone, including himself. But the road to being out and proud was a long one for Chris, and the look on his face told Blake he was on the verge of an internal crisis.

Blake had made a promise to Chris to stand by him and support him through the difficult times, to be the first to cheer at the milestones and the first to console at setbacks, to root for, to advise; to love. And the fearful, wild look in Chris's eyes told Blake that this was one of those times the physically strong officer needed the emotionally strong activist by his side.

With his eyes locked onto his lover's face, watching that fear grow perilously close to overtaking him, Blake slipped his hand into Chris's, fingers tickling against the skin of his palm in a softer, more tender variation of a drunken handshake that stuck between them in the closing hours of the Cake Shop. His grip was gentle but firm, strong; reassuring. With that hand, that open, doting look in his eyes, Blake told Chris without words that he would be there for him, that whatever fears he saw in his mind's eye rising by acknowledging who he was to a fellow officer, it would be okay. That Blake would never, could never leave him, vulnerable and alone, when Chris would need him for support. He wanted to depend on someone through everything, as Brandon was for Ace; he wanted to be the one depended upon.

He could feel the tension start to drift and ebb from Chris's body, the hand grasped in Blake's tightening its hold, finding comfort in that connection. Though Chris's eyes were staring straight ahead at Daughtry he knew Blake's were on him, that soft, silent stare that told him Blake was there for whatever Chris needed, as he had promised. It gave him the strength to extend his free hand towards the approaching officer in friendship, and greet the other man with his boyfriend beside him.

"Daughtry, Manhattan 3-3, mounted unit," he introduced himself in that clipped, macho fashion Blake had always seen on cop shows, that faint buzz of dialogue and plot that got in the way of ogling Jesse L. Martin. Theirs was a firm handshake, not necessarily about something to prove but more to mark the distinction of someone in the force, a secret handshake that rested on might alone.

Chris returned the introduction with a sharp nod; he felt Daughtry scrutinizing him but he couldn't tell if it was over the starch of his uniform collar or the activist beside him. "Richardson, Brooklyn 6-8," he answered quickly, seeing a flash of recognition in Daughtry's eyes at his recitation of his home precinct. "Transit division."

"Ridin' the rails, eh? How's that treat you?" Daughtry seemed to soften, the formalities out of the way; Chris took a hidden sigh of relief that it appeared the other man had no memory of their previous meeting. Either that, or he was having the good sense not to mention it here.

Ducking his head in modesty, Chris replied, the shy smile on his face thankfully far from the fear Blake had seen there a moment ago. "It's a beat," he said, knowing as a rookie he could have received any number of worse neighborhood assignments than his sleepy train line in Bay Ridge.

Daughtry smirked; it was as much of a smile anyone in that waiting room had seen from him all day. "I think I prefer the horses over the rats." Chris went to laugh, but then the other officer's demeanor grew serious once more, the reason they were all gathered there still hanging over the air like a storm cloud, a cyclone threatening to swallow them whole. "I'm...a friend of Ace's," he said, the words deliberate and meant not just for Chris, but for Blake as well, for the pair of hands joined at their sides. It was his small, subtle way of telling them, of letting them know there was nothing to fear from this officer. The hard-knock life of a police officer taught Chris Daughtry the lives and loves of each person in that eight million were unique; his friendship with Ace taught him there was no difference between his love for his wife and Ace's love for Brandon, and that there was nothing more powerful in the world than a man who has fallen in love.

A silence fell among them, no man standing there knowing quite what to say to the other. Chris could recite the levels of Southern decorum his grandmother raised him on when meeting someone new, but chatty small talk felt morbidly out of place when somewhere their friend could have been suffering and they did not know how; Big Mama would certainly not approve.

Suddenly he felt a gentle tug at his left arm; Blake, never the subtle man, garnering his attention in the quickest way he knew how. "Would you excuse us for a minute," Blake said so hastily to Daughtry and David that Chris barely realized he was being pulled into a side corridor away from the main waiting room until he felt the hard tile of the wall against his spine, cold even through his uniform. He hoped this wasn't some uncontrollable sexual stimulus of Blake's that Chris had yet to discover; although he had been pleasantly surprised on a number of occasions by Blake suddenly ushering them both into a supply closet at the Cake Shop or discovering that the bathroom at their favorite Chinese restaurant can snugly fit two, he felt now was definitely not the time for his boyfriend to exercise a cop fetish. Big Mama would definitely not approve of that kind of behavior.

"I feel so bad for Brandon," he said, attempting to diffuse any devious thoughts of Blake's by flinging them both back to the crisis at hand, or at least delaying those thoughts until they could get to a bedroom. "It's got to be bad enough to know Ace is hurt, but it'd kill me to be where he is right now." He wanted to ask Blake if he thought Brandon would be okay, but from the solemn looks on everyone's faces in that waiting room he had the impression that Brandon was far from okay, and nothing any of them could do, save change the events of the past, would help.

He thought about himself in Brandon's position, immobilized by the absence of knowledge, forced to sit in the darkness of ignorance if Blake were hurt. "I just..." His roommate Gina always talked about the fear she held every night that her uniformed friend might not come home, that one day she'd get the call from the precinct, not giving her any details, simply the terrifying request for next of kin. Blake never spoke about having similar fears for the officer, always playing it off that with his contacts in the media he'd probably find out even before Chris's captain. But it was what Blake didn't say that revealed his true anxieties all those who care for a man of the law feel: how he quickly changed the subject if Chris dwelled too long on an armed assault arrest story, how the sigh escaping his lips would sound, shaky and relieved, if Chris ever showed up late to one of their dates because of work. For a brief moment he felt a shock to his body, a twisted bitterness of the tables turned. "If anything ever happened to you..."

But his words cut off, that drastic conditional left hanging in the air as Blake raised himself up on his toes, hands secured on either of Chris's broad shoulders, and pressed his lip's to Chris's. It was a chaste kiss physically, Blake's lips never asking or his playful little tongue prodding at Chris's mouth for entrance as he usually did, but in that kiss Chris felt all the warmth of a hometown hearth, all of the emotion Blake was storing up, saving for this one moment. Chris's arms went instinctively around Blake's frame, hands running along the memorized bars of music tattooed onto his lover's back like a maestro reciting a symphony. It was a kiss with purpose, with meaning; Blake's lips held the words Chris had wanted to say since he stepped foot in the emergency room, had been feeling for the past two months they had been together, like a sprig of cherry blossoms slowly unfurling their bloom in spring.

_If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't know how to go on._

Blake didn't want to stop kissing him, not for propriety or a stern look from that downright scary head nurse, not for anything. He felt Chris's arms wrap around him tightly, the harsh cotton of the officer's uniform now a distant afterthought compared to the warmth he felt in that man's kiss and his embrace. He placed little, insistent pecks against Chris's mouth, the corner of his lips, against the short stubble along his lip and chin, refusing to lose contact. When a hand finally rose to the back of his head, cradling it and stilling his movements, Blake took a deep look into Chris's eyes, a magical green that would forever remind him of the festive first day they met, a green he was finally willing to admit he would be lost without.

For years Blake looked on as Brandon and Ace fell in love, strengthened their bond to become a pair Blake envied. Two months ago he had watched them, saw the tenderness on their faces as they held each other and kissed, and he wanted that feeling with Chris. That day, the moment he saw the confusion and pain stricken on Brandon's face and felt the same in his heart, Blake realized he _had_ that with Chris, and didn't want to ever let it go. "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Z100](http://www.z100.com) is the big Top 40 radio station in New York City and also considered the most listened to radio station in the country. It gets very tiring listening to it, though, when they play the same thirty songs every hour.
> 
> Although Daniel Bedingfield’s song “[If You’re Not The One](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_You%27re_Not_The_One)” came out in late 2002 and probably only received big radio play in 2003, I decided to use it here because its theme fits really well with the chapter. Also, Ace sang it during his time on Idol and I thought it was rather appropriate. I remember thinking the slow song was a real departure from his first dance hit.
> 
> The 1 train in New York is a local train that runs on the 7th Avenue line, from South Ferry to 205th Street in Dyckman Heights. It’s notoriously slow and unreliable, and was a majorly affected train after the September 11th attacks and didn’t recover for over a year. It’s the principal train line for Columbia University students and would be Ace’s best choice (“best” being a relative term) for getting back to the campus from Brandon’s apartment in Chelsea.
> 
> Toys in Babeland is a popular sex toy shop in Manhattan with locations in SoHo, the Lower East Side, and Brooklyn. It makes a point of being inviting and open about all its products and makes the purchase of these things a natural event (unlike the East Village beauty store chain Ricky’s, which keeps their sex toys in a corner in the back of all their stores. There’s actually one around the corner from the Cake Shop – Blake took Chris in there once under duress, showed him a vibrating cock ring in the shape of a pink dolphin he was coveting, and Chris nearly passed out from the embarrassment.
> 
> In case you hadn’t read the prequel to this story or have forgotten, Chris talked to a mounted police officer in a flashback of [Chapter One of Smile A Smile For Me](http://cakeshopstories.livejournal.com/980.html), whose description is strikingly similar to Officer Chris Daughtry. I should have known when I wrote those lines almost a year ago that this would become the epic story that it has and that Daughtry would inevitably become a beloved secondary character instead of a cameo. ;-) Chris’s precinct number is the correct number for Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge, whereas Daughtry’s is fictional; mounted units are from their own precinct in Manhattan, and all Manhattan’s precincts are single-digits – which don’t sound nearly as melodious as the two-digit ones in the boroughs.


	9. Chapter 9

          _October 2003_

Elliott was forty five minutes late, and even for Elliott, who in college had considered a 9:00 class meant to wake up at 8:59, he was damn late.

"There's always traffic," Brandon reminded his boyfriend, watching Ace burn a hole in his wristwatch with his eyes with the intensity of his stare.

Ace dismissed this thought quickly, a slight tinge of impatience in his voice. He had waited for Elliott Yamin for too many years already; it was time to give that boy an alarm clock. "Elliott takes the train," he said, knowing that his old college roommate wouldn't be caught dead paying for a taxi from Harlem to Chelsea.

His new girlfriend, on the other hand, may have had a different view on public transportation. It was what they had been waiting for from the start: Elliott couldn't stop raving over his new girlfriend, the one he bumped into - literally - outside of a Starbucks when he had been running late for a class in his MSW program at Columbia. Leggy, with cascading brown hair, bow-tie lips and a face that turned heads from Broadway to Brooklyn. Certainly Elliott's type, Ace had joked to him when he first told him about this new woman who crashed into his life, and the miraculous thing was she seemed to be genuinely interested in the shy, shaggy-haired Virginian as well. If she had been Jewish, it would have been too good to be true.

Neither Ace nor Brandon had met Elliott's new flame since he had started seeing her nearly six weeks ago, something nearly unheard of in the couple's circle of friends. In the grand scheme of things they hadn't been together very long - Ace always reminded Brandon that the Youngs had been happily married for over thirty years, and Brandon would reply lovingly that they had a lot of catching up to do - but it was almost customary now for their friends to bring around new boyfriends or girlfriends for the couple's scrutiny and approval. Rarely did their observations have any bearing on the relationship at hand, but they did find that their friends liked to gauge their feelings for someone against the near instant love and attraction Brandon and Ace had for each other right from the start. It was a tall order to be that perfect couple in their friends' eyes, Brandon thought as he watched Ace, hint of a smile on his lips because he felt lucky enough just to look at him, but one they could easily attain.

Which was why Ace was excited to meet the new woman in Elliott's life, the one Elliott dreamily boasted made him feel like he walked on clouds when he was with her; made him feel like Ace had when he first met Brandon.

But if they were any later good ol' Elliott would have to get his own damn reservation for the Corner Bistro, because although Ace loved Elliott like a brother, he loved a perfectly cooked Alpine swiss burger more.

"Five more minutes," Ace was giving Elliott; Brandon looked up at the wall clock in their apartment and noticed they were already unforgivably late for their dinner reservation.

Seeing the tension in his lover's body transition from friendly irritation to a genuine annoyance, Brandon reached out a hand towards Ace, bringing the wristwatch gently away from his gaze and brushing his thumb against the back of Ace's hand. Immediately he felt the other man's strain soften, his attentions taken from his chronically late friend to the surge of emotion swelling through his heart. "Relax, love," he soothed, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Ace's ear; a brief kiss, for Brandon knew anything longer would result in them being the late ones. "He'll be here soon. You know this is important to him."

Almost on cue the doorbell rang: it was Elliott, red in the cheeks from rushing his way to their apartment from the A train, apologizing with gasping breaths over his unfashionable lateness. But what Ace and Brandon noticed more than anything else, was that Elliott conspicuously arrived alone.

"What, did Kat finally come to her senses and dump your ass?" Ace ribbed, his hunger and impatience forgotten once Elliott stepped into the room and sat down at the apartment's lone desk to catch his breath. But his lightheartedness faltered when he saw the look on Elliott's face, telling him without words that his joke wasn't too far from the truth.

"It's fine," Elliott waved off the look of concern on his former roommate's face, though his eyes were trained on the floor; a tell-tale sign, Ace knew, that his old friend was lying through his teeth. "Just...can we not go to some romantic kind of restaurant tonight?" He tried to laugh it off but the sound that came out was more of a pathetic cough; Brandon didn't see much of Elliott's sensitive side but it was obvious to him the other man didn't typically keep his emotions inside well. "Not really feeling like being surrounded by happy couples right now."

Elliott was downplaying his emotions, that was clear enough, and Brandon had seen enough bouts of heartbreak from Blake and his other friends for his instincts to kick in almost immediately. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked sympathetically, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Ace shot his boyfriend a stern look; he couldn't read his mind but he knew his actions well enough to predict the thoughts running through his head. Elliott wasn't Blake, and he certainly wasn't David Hernandez: Brandon might have mastered dealing with break-ups with mugs of soothing hot tea and emergency ego-bolstering trips to the closest gay nightclub, but when it came to handling Elliott Yamin's broken heart Ace earned his stripes many times over. "What El needs," he said from experience, "Are good friends, ridiculous amounts of alcohol, and the J. Guiles Band on repeat." He beamed at Elliott, hoping he had correctly listed the magical formula to expedite his good friend's heartache, but Elliott only gave a weak smile in response.

"This wasn't Melissa McGhee," Elliott said, sobering Ace's confidence and reminding them both of the Alpha Phi sorority girl in junior year of college who cheated on Elliott with a good number of the members of the Columbia swimming & diving team. He shrugged his shoulders, the invisible weight of the thoughts in his head heavy upon them. "I just...I told her it didn't feel right."

" _You_ broke up with _her_?" Ace was genuinely shocked; he hadn't met Katharine but hearing Elliott rave about her nonstop made him feel like he knew her for years. Plus, he had spied photos of the fledgling couple in Elliott's apartment; it was an understatement to say Elliott had upgraded from Melissa McGhee. Now he was concerned, but more than that, intrigued. Elliott didn't often make the move to end a relationship, especially when all signs pointed to infatuation. "I thought you two were doing well. What brought this on?"

Another shrug from Elliott, reluctant to talk about events that obviously had just occurred; had it happened any other time than immediately before the social worker would have given Ace and Brandon a heads-up that the reason for the dinner itself would no longer be in attendance. "I told Kat we were meeting you guys here. She...asked about you."

"What do you mean, she asked about us?" said a confused Ace, but Brandon reached out his hand quickly to touch Ace's and silence the question. He looked up at Ace, thumb brushing against the younger man's knuckles, honesty in his eyes that hit Ace so hard and sudden he almost stumbled backwards from the realization. _This_ was what Kat had asked about, this feeling Ace had when Brandon touched his skin, like the dawn cresting over the horizon of a new morning. Brandon understood Elliott's meaning quickly, sadness creeping in that the love he shared with Ace had to be explained; qualified.

Elliott caught sight of the two, Ace's hand instinctively curving around to press his fingertips against Brandon's skin; they didn't even have to think about touching one another, the casual physical connection always present, always so strong. "Kat said some things about you two...I think she might have thought they were funny. They weren't." Brandon had gotten used to unpleasant, ignorant, and sometimes painful remarks about his sexuality; even in the most open, liberal city in the nation he knew all too well about the prejudice and hate he faced. He was forced to grow a thick skin about it over the years, but the comments always hit Ace harder, and deeper, than the couple expected. His grip tightened on Brandon's hand, and he set his jaw, almost thankful now that Elliott hadn't brought the girl along.

Elliott spared the details of his conversation with his short-lived girlfriend, how she laughed off a relationship Elliott had watched flourish and grow over the past few years to be something to be admired, not mocked. He wouldn't dare repeat what she had said afterwards, words he never expected to hear from the mouth of a lady, much less one who a few moments before was head over heels for him. He didn't believe those details would do the three of them any good.

"So I broke it off right there; told her not to even bother coming, and not to call me back." It was then Ace noticed how different this was from Elliott's breakups of yesteryear, how he didn't act despondent and heartbroken over another girl dumping him. This had been a girl who outshone the moon in Elliott's eyes, yet he didn't look that fazed at all. From what his good friend was recounting, though, Ace was getting a pretty clear idea of why.

"I thought you really liked her, though," he said, hoping that his relationship wasn't the only deciding factor in the fate of Elliott's relationship.

Elliott shrugged again; Brandon had a feeling this was how a lot of the former roommates' conversations went. "But you're my best friend," he replied, as if the logic behind his actions was self-explanatory. "Bros before hos, you know?" Brandon couldn't help but snicker at the phrase coming from Elliott Yamin's mouth; the other man noticed, gave a sheepish grin, and corrected himself. "Or, bros before... _bros_ , sometimes."

"You are so not allowed to say 'bros,'" Brandon mocked, but this was all beside the point.

After a quick chuckle Elliott quickly became more subdued; there was something else on his mind that he hadn't said yet, something he had been reluctant to tell his best friend, until now. "You guys...I've seen your relationship from the beginning. How it's grown. How you're made for each other." Brandon found himself smiling wide at Elliott's words, too humble to verbally agree with him yet the words were too right to refute them. He felt a strong arm wrap itself around his shoulders: Ace, still standing, listening to Elliott speak about their love over the past few years, needed just that small connection with his boyfriend, yearned for it. Brandon raised a hand to cover the one atop his shoulder, his heart swelling with emotion. "And I...I always wanted that."

"You always wanted a boyfriend?" Ace joked, cocking an eyebrow. "Something you're not telling me, El?"

Elliott shot him a playful, exasperated look, and continued. "I want that _feeling,_ " he said, remembering the way Ace looked like he could walk across the Hudson River barefoot the day after he met Brandon, like the Earth was turning just for them. He wanted to love someone more than he ever thought was possible; he wanted to find someone who thought _he_ was worthy of that love. "And if Kat can't understand how my best friend could find that with another man..." Elliott's gaze rested on the couple's hands, joined together like they were fashioned from the same mold. How anyone could begin to think that the love he watched flourish was wrong, he couldn't even fathom. "Then we weren't right together to begin with."

They ended up forgetting about the dinner reservations - Ace lamented over his lost Alpine swiss burger but Brandon convinced him they'd never accept the trio's tardiness - and heading to an all-hours diner on 9th Avenue Brandon liked to frequent, with chrome-covered walls and sleek glass pie displays, where the buxom waitress called everyone "sugar" and Elliott ordered enough cheesecake to send him into a diabetic coma. And afterwards, when they had settled into a booth at a dimly-lit bar away from the stretch of underaged NYU hotspots, Ace played the part of the perfect wingman, and Brandon caught the drinks tab as the couple left Elliott and called it an early night, to thank the other man for reminding him just how lucky he was to have found his soulmate.

\---

          _May 2008_

Brandon's mind and his heart were restless but they were nothing compared to his legs. He had needed more than just fresh air when he stepped out of the emergency waiting room at the hospital: he needed to get away from the paralysis he felt sitting in that naugahyde chair, unable to go forward and find Ace, to comfort him when he most needed it but also unable to go back and stop this nightmare from ever happening. He needed to bust away from the head nurse whose watchful eye always seemed to be scrutinizing him, judging him; he wondered if she ever took even a coffee break. He just wanted to be able to do something, instead of just waiting for his world to fall apart.

He allowed his feet to do the wandering for his mind; if he let his mind wander too far into the dark places of doubt and memory, of the worst things that could still happen that day, he found it so overwhelming he could hardly breathe. He went back into the hospital but didn't stop inside the ER, not to wait for more news that would never come. Ace's parents were in the air by now, and the hospital had made it tragically clear that they weren't going to give any information to anyone but them. At least they had the comfort of knowing that the moment they stepped into that hospital they'd find out everything about their son. Brandon yearned for that feeling, was desperate for it, but it couldn't be his.

He was finally starting to realize there might have been something to Ace's marriage proposal, that love meant so much more to the law when a lisence was involved.

Without taking heed of his steps Brandon found himself down a well-worn corridor of the hospital, somewhere away from the frustrating noise and clamor of the emergency room, to a more peaceful setting quite unlike any other hospital Brandon ever knew. Although the exterior of St. Vincent's was made from sleek glass and modern architecture fleetingly popular in the seventies, its history ran deeper than the subway lines coursing underneath the city streets like arteries, deeper than the foundations of earth Brandon stood upon. Inside the glass casing and state-of-the-art facilities was the old hospital, standing in this place over a century, when the level of medical care one received depended upon the faith in their heart and the gold in their pockets. The old structure acted as the heart of the hospital now, with its Elizabeth Ann Seton Chapel at the core of its soul. Brandon could see the lights flicker within the chapel from its exterior doors, the warmth of liturgical candlelight a jarring contrast from the cold, harsh fluorescent bulbs of the waiting room; it was too soothing, too tempting not to go inside.

Walking near the old center of the hospital was like stepping through time, but the chapel itself felt like an entirely different world: high-vaulted ceilings housed elaborate chandeliers and frescoes of saints painstakingly crafted, and the pale limestone walls dotted with columns and stained glass were far more inviting than the whitewashed drywall of the emergency room. At the head of the chapel stood an altar, tucked in snugly to the curve of the far wall, delicately lit and currently empty, waiting for the sacred host for the next liturgical ceremony - whether it be a Mass, a baptism, or funeral.

 _Or a marriage_ , Brandon thought, but that was a bit presumtive. It reminded him of the church of his youth, though starkly different in decoration and purpose: his church on Sundays, filled with ridiculous wide-brimmed hats and yards of purple satin choir robes, was always reminiscent of a living, breathing entity, a house of God brought to life by His people. The Catholic chapel - as well as any Catholic church he visited, aside from St. Patrick's Cathedral where Blake insisted there was magic on its steps - always felt like a testament to history, a temple of gold and marble but not of soul. A church not to celebrate life, but to sanctify death.

If there was one thing Brandon didn't want to think of that day, it was death.

But it was better than the empty, dispassionate feeling lingering in the emergency waiting room, where the staff didn't even pretend to care about basic human emotion over hospital protocol. It was different from the churches he remembered as a boy, the ones he hadn't been to in years, but it was still a calming, familiar place for him; it still felt comforting in a place that had only made him feel pushed aside and unwelcome. He walked slowly up through the empty pews, the candlelight from prayer votives dancing shadows across the walls, making it seem like the spirits revered there filled the old chapel. It was only until he reached the first pew and his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the chapel did he realize he wasn't alone.

"Elliott?" he asked in a hushed voice. He recognized the other man right away, with shaggy brown hair and the makings of a full beard that Ace and his genes always envied. He was seated in the pew in the center of the chapel, his head down and his hands clasped together, deep in thought, not even noticing another man had stepped into the room until he heard his name called. He raised his head, his eyes that landed on Brandon darkened with worry.

"Brandon." His voice echoed off the hallowed walls of the chapel, though they were uttered only loud enough for Brandon to hear. He first looked at the other man with expectancy, with hope, but the frightened, fragile look on Brandon's face told him there was nothing to be expectant about. "You have no news." He said it as a statement rather than a question, already knowing the answer, and for this reason it soothed Brandon slightly with the knowledge that he didn't have to explain to yet another person that he had been shut out of the most crucial moments of his lover's life.

He felt a sudden wave of shame crest over him, causing him to bow his head and train his gaze to the floor. He hated the fact that he had no news, that what Ace may have wanted and their feelings for one another meant nothing in the eyes of the law here, and he hated himself for not taking the pains to make sure it did. Elliott saw this, saw how the passion and determination in Brandon when it came to Ace was turning tragically into defeat. He knew Brandon wanted to be strong but there was only so much a man could take at one time; he had to remember there would be an end to this day, and hopefully it would end with Ace by his side. "Come sit," he suggested kindly, patting the worn wood of the pew next to him. "You look like you need to take a load off."

"Didn't expect to see you in a place like this," commented Brandon as he rested down in the pew. Already he felt a sense of calm here that he hadn't felt anywhere else in the hospital, an abatement of the frantic feeling that was only encouraged by the fast-paced trauma center.

Elliott leaned against the back of the pew, his curls coiling underneath the wood. It sure wasn't what he was familiar with, but it was close enough, and certainly not hard on the eyes. Those Catholics sure did know the definition of flashy. "It doesn't matter where it is you talk to Him," he said, closing his eyes and contemplating the prayers he made only minutes ago. "Just that you know He's listening."

Another blow to Brandon's psyche that Elliott didn't even know he made; he ducked down his head, staring at the hands clasped tightly between his knees, refusing to look up at the accoutrements made to this God Elliott said was always listening. He had been raised to trust in this God, to read His words and believe in the church, but that had all come into question when his family had used that same God and His words to condemn him and the life he finally realized was his own. Once he met Ace his perspective changed again, questioning the very validity of his black-and-white moral upbringing, for how could something so beautiful and perfect as his love for Ace be fundamentally damnable?

But this...the aching in his heart, the terrifying feeling like something had been ripped from his chest; maybe there was something to the fire and brimstone sworn against love like his and Ace's. If there was a God who allowed there to be such a complete love as Brandon held for Ace, then how could He let something like this happen - especially to Ace, a man Brandon knew to only ever have love in his heart. If God was really always listening like Elliott claimed, was He also there to watch as Ace's body was pulled underneath the tires of that bus?

"He couldn't be," Brandon thought to himself, not even noticing that he said the words aloud. He closed his eyes, fearful that he might let tears leak through, his hands clenched together so tightly they were shaking.

Elliott's head perked up, a concerned look on his face. "Brandon?" he asked; there was a chance he misheard the other man, but his instincts overruled his bad ear. "Couldn't what?"

The other man wasn't listening; he heard Elliott all right but the words didn't register in his brain, his thoughts too concentrated now on the God he remembered his mother invoking fanatically as she pushed him out the door of the only home he had known. For years he believed it had only been fearmongering, that what he felt in his heart had to be right in the world, but now he was beginning to doubt. "He's a _good man_ ," Brandon choked out, the very least he could say about his lover. "If God is always listening...why did He let this happen?" He held back a sob; he wasn't going to cry, not here, where the echo of his voice above a near whisper would shatter him. "Unless..."

He shook his head, trying to rattle out the ideas penetrating his rational thoughts, the foundations by which he had lived for over a decade. "Are...are we wrong?" His voice was barely audible, his hands now held above his heart, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Had his family been right all along? Had it all been too good to be true, and now it was all going to come crashing down? "Is all this happening...because we're wrong?"

Through vision blurred by unshed tears he turned to face Elliott, searching for an answer in his eyes. Elliott was shocked at first by Brandon's words but then grew stern, his face unapologetic, his words hard. "Stop it." This wasn't the Brandon he knew, the one almost seven years before fell for Elliott's roommate with just one glance, and it unhinged him as much as it irritated him. "Don't start saying those kinds of things; don't even start thinking them. You can't."

In Brandon's state, with his emotions close to boiling over and his mind wholly unobservant, he didn't notice the urgency in Elliott's voice but it was there, the hint that Elliott wasn't only saying this for Brandon; only the walls of the chapel heard it and knew of its cause. "Elliott-" Brandon started, but the other man swiftly cut him off.

"If you start questioning what you and Ace have, in any way," he stressed, "Then you've given up. You _lose._ " Elliott took in a deep breath; he had never seen Brandon look so vulnerable, never saw him without the light in his eyes that pronounced he was luckiest man in the world to love and be loved by Ace Young. "And if there's one thing I know about you, Brandon, is that you've never given up on Ace. And he'd never give up on you."

Brandon bowed his head down, unable to respond, unable to speak, because he knew Elliott's words to be true. Ace had said to him once, when he needed to hear it the most, that he would never throw Brandon away. That he would never give up on their love. And that - not the sermons preached to Brandon as a child, not the damnable words shouted to him by his family when they disowned him - was what really mattered. But it was so hard to feel that way - so hard to feel anything but the stone in his stomach and the ache in his heart - and as much as he needed to keep positive thoughts and know in his heart everything would be okay, he didn't know if he could do this on his own. Brandon wasn't the strong one in the relationship, but now he needed to be; there was no one else to fall back on but himself.

"I've known you, what, almost seven years now?" Elliott asked; Brandon nodded his head once but couldn't look him in the eye. "I still remember the first night Ace met you. He wanted me to go to that play with him, but I never had a head for Shakespeare. Now I know it was a good idea I stayed behind." Elliott's words brought Brandon back to that day, that near-summer dusk when he caught sight of Ace and knew the Shakespeare play wasn't the only masterpiece in the ampitheater that night. A flash of memory almost made him want to cry out but he whimpered instead at the reminiscence of Ace's eyes on him, his smile; he might have fallen in love with him right at that moment.

Elliott continued, a soft smile on his face at remembering the morning he discovered his good friend's life had turned around. "I had a Sociology lecture that morning; I was running late." Even in the most dire of moods Brandon had to smile at this; Elliott was perpetually late, for as long as he knew the man, except for this day when it really mattered. "Ace came back to the dorm from God knows where, out all night and grinning like an idiot. I thought he had hooked up with someone -" that had been an unspoken agreement between Ace and Elliott since their freshman year: Ace would come back at any hour of the night, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, and Elliott would know he had been with a man but would never ask, and Ace would never tell. "- but he gave me this smile, like he was about to burst at the seams 'cause he was so happy, and told me he met you."

The older man couldn't help but smile, remembering his own joy that swelled in his heart at meeting Ace so randomly that night, the tension he was feeling in his limbs slackening. He had known deep within him that it was to be a special night in the long story of his life, but he never asked in detail if Ace had felt the same; he had always just known it to be true. "I ended up skipping that lecture," said Elliott, the sentimental grin on his face growing wider as he watched Brandon's emotional barriers begin to fade. "Ace looked so excited to tell someone about the great night he had, and I just had to know what was making him giddy as a 12-year-old. He didn't know it then - and neither did you, probably - but after knowing Ace for so long, I had a guess that meeting you would change his life."

Changed his life...Brandon's mind fell bitterly on the thought, the irony not lost on him that if he had never let his gaze fall to the handsome man in the theater that night, if he had never met Ace, the other man wouldn't be fighting for his life at that very moment. But then other thoughts flashed through his mind, images of the two of them holding each other so close only the stark contrast of their skin could tell them apart; Ace's eyes, vivid green and sparkling in moonlight, like they were the most valuable treasure Brandon could ever grasp. The feel of strong arms around him and a low, familiar voice in his ear asking him to marry him. These were the moments that had truly changed their lives; these were the memories neither man would trade a lifetime for. Finding each other and falling in love had brought them to this place, to Ace alone and hurting and Brandon lost, frustrated, but every second of the time in between made up for this heartache.

"For as long as I've known you two, you've been so in love." Elliott had watched their relationship flourish for years now, was the cruel witness to one of their more amorous moments in the dorm room; gave one of the graduation tickets he wouldn't be using so Brandon could see Ace dressed in cap and gown. "But more than that, you respect each other. You understand each other so well, sometimes it's tough to remember you _haven't_ always been in love. It's all I'd ever want in a relationship; it's all anyone would want."

He placed a hand above Brandon's clasped hands supportively; the hands still held their tight grip on one another but they were no longer shaking, the frantic emotions within Brandon cooling before they could boil over. "And I don't know," Elliott said sincerely, "how anyone can say what you have is wrong."

It jolted Brandon, took his thoughts away from the dangerous doubts that had crept in and brought his mind to where it needed to be, on Ace, on his love. But it left him in a vulnerable position, his mind too focused on his emotions and how all of it, the life he had built with Ace, could be taken away in a moment and he would never even know. He looked up at the altar of the chapel, the morbidly accurate crucifix with its open arms almost encouraging Brandon to release his emotions; then back at Elliott, knowing what the other man said to be true. "I'm scared." His voice was strange even to his own ears, quiet but not to escape the echo in the vast chapel. He wasn't the strong, sensible one in the relationship; he didn't know what to do to make any of this better. He didn't know if he could make this better without Ace.

The other man's whisper was clearly an understatement, Brandon nearly couldn't stop shaking since he sat down in the pew, but it was more than Elliott thought he was going to confess. The other friends Brandon had left in the waiting room - Daughtry and his seething outrage, Blake and his neurotic doting, and David and Danny and their empty words - they all tried to reassure him, in some way, that everything would be okay. It fired Brandon up inside to hear those words because none of them could guarantee them, none of his friends could honestly say they weren't telling him this to make him feel better when the reality was so very close to it not being okay. But Elliott just smiled at him, hand on Brandon's shoulder, saying nothing of the sort: he knew things could take a turn for the worse, and that he may never see his friend again.

Brandon didn't need to be told everything would be okay when it might never be okay for him again. So Elliott gave him the only advice he believed would matter.

"Then pray," he said simply, squeezing Brandon's shoulder in support before turning back to face the altar, eyes closed, his own mind the only house of God he needed. Brandon hadn't prayed in years, barring the times he would have worshipped Voodoo dolls if they got the Knicks into the playoffs, but at that moment he would pray to any deity that would listen to bring Ace safely back to him. He found himself closing his eyes, resting his forehead on his clasped hands and slowing his breaths to as close to calm as he could reach. Religion had always been a comfort to Elliott, a constant light that shone true in the good and bad times of his life, and he embraced it like the history of his fathers before him. As the other man muttered in an ancient language the hospital's chapel had probably never heard within its walls, Brandon let his fearful thoughts turn into pleas, prayers not to a particular God but to the ether, to fate, the words from his heart on loop in his mind.

 _Please, let him be okay,_ he thought, wishing he could only see his love and know for certain. _Please don't let him die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore Elliott in this story and I hope that you do, too. Much like Ace, Elliott continued his education at Columbia University, though he worked on a masters degree in social work while Ace went to the School of Law. Elliott was always meant to be a social worker in this world - call it my obsession to track every facet of the New York City social justice system, ha - who still has that idealistic feeling that he can make a difference. He is employed by the [Human Resources Administration](http://www.nyc.gov/html/hra/html/home/home.shtml) in New York City, which takes care of a number of social issues in all five boroughs, though he particularly likes to work on cases with troubled youth instead of setting someone up for Meals on Wheels. This will come to be quite important and interesting in the stories to come.
> 
> [The Corner Bistro](http://nymag.com/listings/bar/corner_bistro/) is considered to be one of the best burgers in New York City. It's not so much a reservation-only restaurant as it is a "get in line for an hour and get your burger on a paper plate" place, but since it is in the relative area of Chelsea I couldn't resist sending them there. For those of you interested in a different kind of tribute to the 20-something's New York City, it is also the place most recommended by people to Marshall in How I Met Your Mother as [the best burger in New York](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Best_Burger_in_New_York) \- but you, me, and Regis Philbin all know it's totally not. ;-)
> 
> Ace, of course, is referring to [Love Stinks](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_stinks) by the J. Guiles Band, an album infamous for mopey breakups. (Elliott, apparently, goes through a spectrum of music tastes during his breakup akin to the stages of grief: J. Guiles Band is anger, and then he'll move onto R.E.M. for depression, The Players for bargaining, and, oddly enough, Jewel's _Pieces of You_ rules his denial stage.)
> 
> They eventually end up going to the now-defunct [Cheyenne Diner](http://www.nyc-architecture.com/MID/MID138.htm), a hole-in-the-wall old style diner overlooking the main post office and the train yards on the West Side. I only ate there once or twice and the food was not spectacular, but it was the atmosphere everyone went there for. Allegedly the body of the diner will be moving to Red Hook, Brooklyn, while assuredly the old space will be filled with high-rise condos and a Bank of America on the ground floor.
> 
> St. Vincent's Medical Center in Greenwich Village has been around for over 150 years, and at the center of the hospital is the [Elizabeth Ann Seton chapel](http://www.svcmc.org/body.cfm?id=97), a Catholic chapel set in the hospital as a place of refuge. [Here's a shot](http://www.svcmc.org/images/Manhattan/StElizabethAnnChapel2.jpg) of the chapel; the only one I could find online. It makes me want to go visit so darn badly, but I don't think they'll just let me walk in and gape. There are prayer and consultation services for members of other faiths in the building, but I gloss over them so that Elliott could be found in the chapel instead.


	10. Chapter 10

          _May 2005_

 

"It's so _big_." 

Brandon didn't think he had ever been this happy without it directly involving his boyfriend, but to be completely fair Ace couldn't attempt to compare to this thing's sheer size. 

He could hear Ace walking through the other rooms, analyzing the quality of plaster and testing each electrical socket with his cell phone charger, happily scoping out their most recent acquisition. He should have really joined him, making sure the apartment was structurally sound and that there wasn't a hidden nest of termites or rats or another of the many unpleasant species of New York nuisances living in the walls. But Brandon couldn't bring himself to step out of this place, a vast space he never thought he would have the privilege of calling his own. 

"You say something, hon?" came the familiar voice from the kitchen, but Brandon didn't answer him, he didn't have to. They were both still getting used to the space, deciding on living decor and determining how thick and sound-resistant their new walls were, but it was still small enough for one of the men to know where his loving counterpart was in the apartment without having to send out a search party or play a twisted game of Marco Polo. Besides, Brandon had been enchanted since they had first seen the apartment weeks ago; there was only one place that Ace needed to look at all. 

"I think I'm in love," replied Brandon dreamily as Ace stepped into the room they designated would be the bedroom. Brandon wasn't in this room, either, nor was he in the bathroom off of that room; his voice didn't resonate as if it bounced off tile but Ace had an inkling where his boyfriend may have been. 

There weren't any lights where Brandon stood but the bright sunlight streamed in through the bedroom windows, unfettered by window coverings or blinds the couple hadn't yet strung up. He felt strong, loving arms wrap around his midsection, the familiar smell of his lover's shampoo mingling with his natural scent, both rising above the unpleasant odor of fresh coats of paint. Brandon melted into the embrace, leaning back against Ace's chest, reveling in the feel of being in love with this man, here, in the place they were about to call a home of their own. 

Ace pressed a tender kiss to Brandon's temple, his grin wide as Fifth Avenue at his lover's delight. "So you're no longer in love with me?" he teased, fingers dipping underneath Brandon's shirt and traveling over the well-known pathways of his skin. "You planning on leaving me for your wild, passionate affair with a walk-in closet?" 

Brandon answered by passionately capturing Ace's lips with his own, craning his neck to kiss above and behind him, giving Ace all the response he needed. He could never love a closet more than he loved Ace, not by a long shot, though it was true that the law student - no, law school _graduate_ , Brandon reminded himself - definitely couldn't hold as many pairs of shoes as this closet. 

It had been something that was on the forefront of their minds all throughout Ace's last year in law school - and, if Brandon was being honest, was a splendid pipe dream of his even before he met Ace Young: to move out of Brandon's studio apartment and find a place of their own. Although Brandon had never minded being close to Ace in any way possible, the cramped apartment could easily go from cozy to unbearable, but while Ace had been in school it was all they could afford on Brandon's meager salary. But just two weeks ago Ace had completed law school, and with that achievement came a salaried position at Davis, Fuller, & Lythgoe, the contract law firm where he had been fetching coffee and making copies for what seemed like an eternity. With his more than decent paycheck for a job he had been training for years for, Ace was in the position to search for an apartment slightly larger than the trunk space in a Volkswagon - and, without question, he was taking Brandon along with him for the ride. 

Which, for Brandon, was more than he could have ever dreamed: despite having barely enough room to think for oneself in their old apartment, Brandon could have been content living in a cardboard box so long as Ace was by his side. He had always seen his life staying static, rooted in a simmering complacency, working in mediocre jobs below his level, living in the tiny studio the Chelsea House had found him when he needed a place to stay. He never even considered entertaining the thought of moving into an apartment in TriBeCa, with central air conditioning and new, clean appliances, where he didn't have to keep his mattress in the livingroom or leap over his desk to reach the kitchen. 

He hadn't realized how much his life could change the moment he met Ace; he had just known it was going to change forever. 

"I think," he said, as Ace broke their kiss to nuzzle into the flesh at Brandon's neck, "That this closet is even bigger than our last apartment." 

Ace laughed into Brandon's skin, sending pleasant tickles of breath through the older man's body. "It may be," he joked, squeezing Brandon tightly around the middle, bringing him closer in a brief moment of pure bliss. "You might even be able to fit your whole wardrobe in here." 

He couldn't help but laugh at his own expense; even in his most meager years living on his own, Brandon always made a point to look stylish, rationalizing that a week of eating canned soup was worth saving enough to buy a pair of leather boots. He had amassed a rather hefty wardrobe that left his old closet close to bursting, and adding Ace's clothes to the heap hadn't helped with the crowded atmosphere of the old apartment. Ace never let an opportunity pass where he could playfully tease his boyfriend over the number of tailored shirts or pairs of jeans spilling out of dresser drawers - and with the older man's free-spirited attitude over tidiness, there were times where the sentiment was literal. 

The new closet space in the apartment was a dealmaker for the couple: for Brandon it was like Cinderella stepping into the glass slipper - a perfect fit, though he would only ever admit to making that comparison to his lover. For Ace, it meant a spacious closet for both of their wardrobes, Brandon with his endless parade of business casual both for work and for play, and Ace's paradoxical wardrobe of faded t-shirts and jeans mixed with tailored suits for the firm would finally have some room to breathe. He couldn't begrudge Brandon's mountain of clothes, however; they always made him look damn good, and the pair of jeans Brandon was wearing fit the curves of his body all too well for Ace to complain. 

"I could buy even _more_ shoes," Brandon replied excitedly with a chuckle. Even with their clothing and living habits the two men complemented each other in ways they never imagined: Brandon, having always believed life was too short for the mundane, let his clothes lay where he left them, while Ace took his mother's teachings to heart and tidied not only his own clothes but his boyfriend's as well. Ace made a mock-exasperated groaning sound against the skin of Brandon's neck at the prospect of straightening up more of Brandon's stuff. 

It was so comforting, so natural to the both of them, to be like this, joking and teasing as freely and easily as the most tender of touches, the most beautiful words of love spoken between them. Brandon never thought being in love could possibly feel this amazing, or be this effortless with Ace. "Our new place," he said softly, after a few moments of the two men standing in the walk-in closet in silence, simply holding each other and reveling in the feeling. Sure, the old apartment had also been their place, had been the cramped yet lovable space they called home for over three years. But that was more a home of necessity than convenience: they had to live there, whereas this apartment was chosen, selected equally by the two men, the both of them sure this was where they wanted to build their lives together. 

He felt a shiver course through Ace's body as he pressed a lingering kiss to Brandon's cheek. "You don't know how happy this makes me," he said, his voice full of emotions that weren't all saintly love. Brandon felt the familiar pressure of his lover's groin behind him as Ace pulled him in closer, his breath hot on Brandon's neck. A devilish smile spread across Brandon's face, fully enjoying the feeling. 

"I bet I could take a guess," he replied slyly, arching his back and rolling his hips into Ace, sighing as he felt the other man's half-hard cock respond even through all the fabric between them. This feeling never got old, the pressure of Ace against him, hot and willing, the thrill of not knowing whether a caress between them would be innocent, playful, or something delightfully more. 

The hands that had been idly trailing along the skin underneath Brandon's shirt now pressed with more insistence, running up against the flesh of his chest, brushing against a nipple in the exact way Ace knew Brandon loved it. Ace felt Brandon turn to face him, take some control and touch Ace the way Ace was touching him, but with a lustful growl Ace held firm, holding Brandon's backside to him. It was certainly a good position to be in. "You know what we need to do?" he mumbled into his lover's ear, then playfully making a sweep of its shell with the tip of his tongue. 

Brandon's eyes closed involuntarily, shuddering at the sensation. He only moaned in response as Ace's hands traveled lower on his body to the waistband of his jeans, expertly unbuttoning them with one hand while the other ducked lower into the elastic of his boxers. He had wanted to turn around, make Ace feel as amazing as he knew he could, but leaving Ace in control and calling the shots was hot in innumerable and disturbing levels. They were going to have to do this a bit more often. 

He could hear the amusement in Ace's voice, underneath the lust, as he took hold of Brandon's cock, already hard from Ace's ministrations, and stroked it in time with the thrusts of his hips. "If we're going to call this place ours, it really ought to be _christened_ first." 

A particularly sharp thrust sent both Brandon and Ace pitching forward, Brandon reaching his arms out instinctively and bracing the weight of the two on the wall of the closet. The older man wasn't complaining at all, Ace's enthusiasm for Brandon's body was always welcome and well reciprocated, and as Ace wasted no time in pulling Brandon's jeans and boxers down to his knees, he wasn't sure if he should laugh at his eagerness or moan from his passion. "We don't even have furniture yet!" he chuckled, his skin searing at the touch of Ace's hands on the backs of his bare thighs, saliva-slick fingers dipping into the curves of his ass. Damn, he thought, using the wall to push himself closer to the touch. When did he get the time to do _that_? 

"Don't need furniture," Ace's words were clipped and rough as he rose to his feet, his cock pressing against Brandon's cleft now unfettered by pesky clothing. He certainly worked fast when he knew exactly what he wanted - which, on most occasions, he wanted Brandon over trivial things like food, sleep or shelter - but when it was most important he knew just how to draw it out to the fullest. His breath was hot on the back of Brandon's neck, the feel of Ace's fingers grabbing him, circling his hole, and then _oh_ , inside of him...Brandon thought he could never tire of that sensation, of how much he loved and wanted him. "Just need _you_." 

One slender finger inside, then two, reaching deep and scissoring until Brandon was thrusting back against the pressure, leaning his forehead against the wall, loving every moment of it. He loved giving himself over to the pleasure Ace's body could give him, loved it when Ace did the same for him, his fate put wholly in the hands of his boyfriend, trusting him completely. He knew that at the slightest indication of pain or discomfort Ace would stop, would turn Brandon around to apologize profusely and search his eyes for forgiveness, knowing he would find it there. But as Ace's fingers retreated and were replaced with the thick head of his cock, glistening with sweat and precum, Brandon knew he wouldn't ever dare stop. 

"Oh God, you feel so good," Brandon moaned into the wall, his fingers digging into the plaster at the tight, tense sensation of being filled, deeply fucked by Ace. His lover pushed back with more force, sliding in all the way to the hilt and holding there, his chest pressed to Brandon's back like two joined pieces to a mold. His hips started a smooth, slow rhythm, reveling in the tight heat of Brandon's body, the heaven he had known for years was exclusively his. His home was here, inside of Brandon, and in this apartment he meant to make their home. 

Ace trailed a line of kisses up from Brandon's collarbone to his neck, whispering "I love you" into the skin there as he felt Brandon tremble from the inside out. He never felt more complete than when he was with Brandon, whether laughing with him in the sunshine of a summer morning, holding him close on cold winter nights, or buried deep inside him like he was right now. His hands gripped at Brandon's hips, fingers digging into the flesh he'd memorized every inch of by then, adored every curve and pore. 

With a surge of energy and passion Brandon twisted his waist to turn around as much as he could without moving his legs; he didn't dare, didn't want disrupt any of what Ace was doing because he might have killed him if he stopped. He kissed Ace fiercely, panting deep and nearly losing his breath from the effort. The air in the closet was heating up to the point of stifling but Brandon didn't care, it wasn't as important as the way Ace was making him feel. Only until he tasted the salty beads of sweat dripping from their brows in their kisses did either man realize that, however spacious, a walk-in closet was no place to have good sex. 

"We've got to get these off," Brandon said, hastily turning back around to pull his polo over his head, nearly tearing it in the process. He reached behind him to make contact again with Ace, and his fingers met with hot, tanned skin against a toned chest; apparently Ace had the same idea, and his t-shirt had already joined Brandon's on the floor. It wasn't Ace's normal practice to leave sweaty, dirty laundry on the floor of the closet, but these were not normal circumstances. 

"You're so fucking hot," Ace groaned, holding Brandon closer, running his palms over the older man's chest. It didn't matter where they were to him - in a walk-in closet, the bed in their new apartment, or even the dressing room at Macy's on one occasion - so long as they were together. Ace didn't think he'd ever get tired of the sound of Brandon's voice, or the warmth of his body in their bed beside him, and his soft pants, growing increasingly labored and audible as Ace thrust in deeper, faster, would never get old.

"What's hot," laughed Brandon, and by God, he couldn't imagine how his brain was functioning enough to laugh when there was so much other stimuli he'd rather pay attention to. "Is this closet."

He felt the grin spreading on Ace's face and throughout his body before he heard the playful laugh behind him; he knew it meant Ace was up to something. Ace slipped out of him with a reluctant groan; at first Brandon thought he had done so to reposition the couple, work their bodies in a way that he knew would give them both the most pleasure. He arched his back, searching blindly for that fulfilling sensation once more but finding no relief; his brow furrowed in confusion, the unexpected absence of his lover near painful to him. Brandon whimpered, neck craned back towards Ace for some kind of explanation. What his eyes found were two playful green eyes staring back at him, glinting with desire and mischief.

"Care to come out of the closet with me?" Ace asked, beaming from his own joke, his arm snaking down that of his lover's until he reached Brandon's hand, entwining fingers with his own. He gave a tender tug, indicating to follow him, but Brandon stayed firm, desiring to see where this was going first. Besides, he had just fallen in love with this closet; he wasn't prepared to leave it any time soon.

But Ace was slowly retreating away from Brandon's heated body, the devilish look in his eyes only intensifying with the distance while Brandon was quickly unraveling from the disconnection. "What-" he questioned, his mind staggering to transition from thoughts that were purely physical to thoughts that involved, well, thinking. It wasn't as easy as it seemed, he realized, especially when his mind had to make such a drastic switch. He wanted to ask what Ace was thinking, what he wanted Brandon to do, but Ace interrupted him before any of that could come out.

Ace pulled in one last time, crushing his lips against Brandon's too briefly for the older man to fully react but too passionately to resist it. "Follow me to the kitchen," he suggested slyly, anticipating Brandon's question. "And you'll find out." With that Ace gave a wink and trotted off to the kitchen, which, Brandon knew, was as empty as the rest of the apartment save for the appliances they managed to get thrown in with the security deposit.

Brandon Rogers's stubbornness was epic but his curiosity as to his boyfriend's plot and his body's base desire to return to that blissful state of intercourse won out. He exited the closet but by that time Ace was out of the bedroom entirely, a pathway of light from the bare bulbs on the ceiling displaying the way to the kitchen. Brandon doubted any of this was Ace's plan from the start - though he could easily be wrong, their anniversary was coming up in the next month and Ace had a way of surprising him with romantic and utterly outrageous gifts every year. He rounded the corner out of the bedroom, past the living room - and dear God, he hoped their friends didn't decide now was the time to give the couple a housewarming visit - and into the kitchen, where he saw the gleaming new appliances, the pale ivory countertops contrasting beautifully with the espresso finish on the cabinets...but no Ace.

With a frown on his face and a yearning need for his lover in his gut, Brandon closed the kitchen door behind him. The apartment was considerably larger than their last but it was no labyrinth, and Brandon didn't think it was quite spacious enough to hide a six-foot tall grown man, completely naked and aching for amazing sex. As his mind quickly fell on the disappointment of not finding Ace, strong arms surprised him from behind, wrapping themselves around Brandon's waist and chest, the warmth of the other man's body guiding him towards the counter.

Ace emerged from behind the door, the only place, possibly, that Brandon hadn't thought of because it was too simple. "When I said I wanted to christen the apartment, love," His voice was as playful as it was lustful, already repositioning himself behind Brandon, desperate to find the heat of his body again. Brandon's hands shot out along the edge of the counter to steady himself, give himself something to grip until his muscles ached because he knew he would need it. "I meant...I want you _everywhere_."

And on that Sunday afternoon, when the burnt orange of the setting sun danced like blazing fire against the naked cream walls of their new home, Ace did indeed get his desires, making love to Brandon on the kitchen countertop, against the slick porcelain in the bathroom, and testing the acoustics of the living room with their moans of pleasure. They ended their exploits in the bedroom, atop the plush ivory-colored carpet Brandon had fretted would get too dirty, but he couldn't say no to Ace, not about carpet color or about when and where he would passionately take him. Brandon didn't think he could ever say no to this man.

"God, I'm so close," Ace's breath was labored, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, the intensity of holding himself off this long when he knew just how easy it was to lose himself in the heat of Brandon's body. He was seated on the carpet in the exact place they had planned to position the bed once it was delivered, leaning back slightly as Brandon straddled him, pressing himself down with muscular, trained thighs. Ace had wanted to hold him from behind, wanted to be the one giving Brandon pleasure instead of the other way around, but they could find no other position that did not involve a harsh case of rugburn for the couple, and besides, as Ace watched Brandon roll his eyes back and moan, this was a much better view than the back of his boyfriend's head.

His hands cupped Brandon's ass, supporting him and kneading in time with Brandon's ministrations. He didn't know what his eyes should focus on, between the hungry, lustful look in Brandon's eyes to the sweat across his forehead, tempting Ace to touch, to lick, and the cock in Brandon's rapidly moving fist, so hard and so close to release he could see it tremble with each upstroke. A thick, clear pool of precum dribbled from its head, and Ace felt wholly disappointed in himself that he could not be more flexible and curve his body enough to taste the liquid with his tongue.

The sound of Brandon's voice, not just the irresistible sounds he made when they made love, brought Ace's attention back to Brandon's face. "Fuck, do it," his tone was nearly begging for it, the shine in his eyes sincere. Just that look alone could have sent Ace over the edge. "I want to feel you. Oh God, Ace -"

Brandon's words were cut off by his own cries rising out of his throat, his cock jerking in his fist, coating his fingers and Ace's stomach. The younger man couldn't control himself much longer after that, moving his hands from Brandon's ass to the muscles of his back, palming them hard to get more leverage as he thrust in deep, his lover's name on his lips. He often had friends who told him how they couldn't understand being with the same person for so long, how it must have been boring and mundane by now, but Ace knew better, especially when every time he was with Brandon, from every second he looked into his eyes to when they made love, felt as amazing as this.

Panting and sated, Ace shifted his weight over to the side to let Brandon disentangle himself from their position. A bemused and strangled noise came from his boyfriend's mouth; he wasn't expecting that, and as he turned his gaze back to Brandon's face, he saw a deep frown. "You're going to mess up the carpet!" Brandon tutted, his fingers sliding along Ace's stomach in the mess they had made. It had been Ace's idea to buy the light-colored carpet but Brandon would be damned if they got it sullied before they even had any furniture in here.

Grinning, Ace moved his hands over Brandon's body with lazy, lingering touches, expecting nothing sexual, but merely to touch. "Then get a towel," he groaned, his limbs still numb and heavy from his orgasm, and wishing Brandon wouldn't be such a stickler for a stretch of carpet that would probably lie unseen underneath their bed in three days' time.

"We don't have any towels," retorted Brandon, though his voice was softer than before, enjoying the playfulness of Ace's smile and the nimbleness of his fingers.

"Then use your shirt." Ace tweaked at a nipple, garnering a yelp and a happy, satisfied laugh from the man atop him.

The older man gave him a playful smack on the belly, making a sticky, splashing noise. "Why _my_ shirt?" he challenged.

"Well, it's  your cum!"

Neither man could hold it in any longer and they burst into happy laughter as they held one another, a sound that would reverberate off the walls of that apartment for years to come.

\------------------------------

          _May 2008_

It was a few minutes before either man spoke inside the chapel, Elliott finished with his own silent prayer but watching Brandon's face for an indication he was done. There was no way he planned to interrupt him and take him away from his thoughts, not when Brandon was in such a state of shock and turmoil over Ace that he questioned their faith in one another. He carefully looked on with sympathy as Brandon's brow furrowed with worry, perhaps dwelling on a thought or a memory too close to his heart to let go. Elliott had known Ace for years and was undoubtedly the social worker's best friend, but the uncertainty he felt couldn't even compare to what Brandon must have been going through.

When the strained creases in Brandon's forehead softened and he sat back once again on the wooden pew, Elliott put a reassuring arm over his shoulders, letting Brandon know he wasn't alone, in the chapel and otherwise. "You ready?" he asked, though willing to stay in the chapel for as long as Brandon needed the peace.

Taking in a deep and shaky breath, Brandon closed his eyes, shutting out the warm glow of the chapel's devotional candles, the sight of the welcoming room in such contrast to the waiting room downstairs. Was he ready...ready for more waiting? Ready to bear the ridiculed looks of the hospital staff and the rejection by the head nurse for any tiny piece of information on Ace? Ready to wait for news that might tear his world apart, news that may not come for hours still? Brandon wanted to stay in this calming place, where time seemed to stand still and he found at least some respite from his fear.

Sensing the other man's hesitation, Elliott added optimistically, "There might be some news," and although his tone was encouraging his heart wasn't behind the words, and neither was Brandon's. He wanted more than anything for there to be news, for that veil of enforced ignorance to be lifted and he could know about, and maybe even see, the love of his life. But the chances of that seemed slim when he had left the emergency room, and he doubted the hospital's patient privacy policy would have changed in the past hour, or that the head nurse would have had a sudden change of heart.

Still, he didn't want to give up the hope that something miraculous could happen, that he could head down to the ER and be greeted with the news that Ace was awake, healing and asking for him. If he started giving up hope...then he gave up everything.

"I'm ready," he replied, and though he didn't think he ever could be ready for a day like this, it was still one he had to face.

The walk seemed quicker back to the emergency room than it had taken Brandon to get there; it may have been Elliott's presence next to him, silent yet understanding, or perhaps now Brandon knew where he was going, what he searched for, instead of letting his wandering mind and jittery legs do the walking. When they arrived back to the waiting room - Brandon noted immediately the sky outside the tinted reinforced windows had darkened to an inky black, spotted with orange bursts of color from passing headlights - his friends were in a bustling mood, their spirits lifted into action from some unknown force. David noticed the pair's arrival first, and he jumped up to greet them, his face full of an optimism Brandon didn't understand.

"Great! You're here," he greeted them both, his attentions on Brandon, but for what purpose, Brandon couldn't yet fathom. Surely there couldn't have been any news... "We've been looking all over for you. Well," David grinned, correcting himself, "I sent Danny out to look for you. Hope he's not terrorizing the burn ward or anything."

A jolt of excitement shot through Brandon's limbs at David's light-heartedness, his breath hitched in his throat at the hope his presumptions might be true. "You've heard something?" A moment ago the concept had been doubtful but that moment felt like an eternity ago to Brandon, especially if there was new information, or - his heart raced at the thought - Ace had woken up.

The optimistic grin on David's face fell; he mistakenly led Brandon to believe there was more behind his mood than there actually was. "No, there's...there's been nothing," he replied, in a sobered voice. "I'm sorry."

And just as quickly as his spirits had been lifted they fell, crashing deep into the pit of his stomach, his heart worse for the wear. He cursed himself that he let himself get so excited so quickly, only to have his hopes dashed. His mind was such a mess of hope and fear, doubt and love; he needed to clear the jumble, see a break in the clouds that this day would be over with a happy ending. He needed Ace.

"But there is something." Brandon perked up again, bringing his attention back to David and off of the burning hole left in his heart. David motioned for the pair to follow him back to a row of naugahyde seats their friends had commandeered as their center while waiting for any news on Ace's condition. Daughtry was waiting there, keeping a close eye on the seats but preferring to stand and occasionally pace, and so was Blake, slouched in one of the chairs with his gaze trained on the nurses' station and a scowl on his face. "You might be able to get in to see Ace."

"Really?!" shouted Brandon, his heart leaping into his throat, soaring, just at the mention of seeing his love. There had seemed to be no way before to even get acknowledged as Ace's lover, let alone go in to see him. But at this point, with his emotions running high and tense enough to snap, he was ready to hold onto any kind of hope he could get.

David immediately shot out his hand to quiet the other man. "We're working on it," he said with a wink. "Actually, the whole thing was my idea..."

"Don't be so full of shit, David," Blake muttered from his perch, his legs pulled in close to the rest of his body, eyes still staring over the horizon of his knees at the figures standing around the nurses' station. He threw a thumb in Daughtry's direction. "He thought of the plan."

"We all came up with it," Daughtry said in a rare act of calm and diplomacy. David rolled his eyes, pouting, and went to sit next to Blake, leaving Daughtry to explain to Brandon and Elliott just what had been plotted in their absence. He pointed over to the nurses' station - Blake gave out a surly noise of displeasure from this - and said in a low voice, "What do you see there?"

Elliott and Brandon looked over towards the large desk, where hours ago Brandon felt the anguish and humiliation of being turned away by the emergency room head nurse because he had no legal documents backing up what he felt in his heart, that Ace Young was his family. The lump forming in his throat at the memory made him unable to speak; Elliott, who had not seen or been through any such injustice, didn't have the same reaction. "Are we looking at the nurses?" he asked, confused, watching the hospital staff who dressed nothing like the busty girls dressed as nurses last Halloween.

Daughtry shook his head; that was only half his point. "More importantly," he said, "What do you _not_ see there?"

Brandon's eyes widened as he noticed what was missing; his friends' plan was becoming clearer now, as stark as the maroon of the scrubs worn by the woman behind the desk and the navy of the uniform of the man beside her. "She's gone," he said; had it been any other day Brandon would have smiled at the lightening feeling in his bones.

"Nurse Jones," Daughtry said with a satisfied smile and a nod, "is on her well-deserved break." Daughtry had noticed it first in the waiting room, his eyes always glowering at the stern woman at the desk who fiercely shot daggers right back. While it was a relief to Brandon to know that he was escaping the scrutinizing eye of the head nurse for at least an hour while they waited for news, he didn't know why it garnered such an enthusiastic response from everyone else.

His eyes focused more clearly on the figures currently at the front desk, a short, petite black woman whose shoulders barely came up to the rim of the formica desktop as she stood beside it, her smile bright and animated, a complete opposite of the foreboding, no-nonsense Lakisha Jones. Her feathered hair bounced around, framing her head as she talked - Brandon could tell it was a wig but he knew better than to say anything, if his mother had ever taught him anything useful. But more significantly than the new nurse was with whom she was talking and laughing, a tall man built solidly and swathed in heavy navy, leaning against the desk to minimize the height difference between them. The clothes and their accoutrements were new, but Brandon knew that buzzed hair and smiling, slightly bashful face well by now.

"When did Chris get here?" he asked, instantly recognizing the chatty officer as Chris Richardson, and found it very odd that he seemed to prefer talking with the relief nurse than sitting with his visibly upset boyfriend Blake.

"About an hour ago," Daughtry replied, giving an approving nod over towards the other officer. "I think I know a guy who was in the Academy with him. Seems cool."

Another offended snort popped up from Blake; Brandon had known him enough years to differentiate each disapproving noise, each passive-aggressive shrug of the shoulders. The journalist sunk deeper into his seat as David put a reassuring arm around him, knowing that Blake was not the friend who truly needed the sympathy tonight. "He's part of the plan," David explained, patting Blake on the shoulder encouragingly. "And Blake isn't very happy about it."

"I don't see why," Blake mumbled petulantly, " _My_ boyfriend has to be the one paraded in front of some nurse like Virginia ham on a stick, and  I have to sit here and watch it. If she calls him 'husband' one more time, lady’s gonna lose that wig."

The friendly arm around Blake's shoulders tightened into a menacing grip, or as menacing as David Hernandez could possibly be. "Suck it up," he muttered into Blake's ear, sobering the journalist's complaints. "This isn't about you. This is for Brandon."

"He wanted to see if he could get any information out of the new nurse," Daughtry explained; he was going to ask her himself, but the other men in the waiting room had put it to unanimous vote that Daughtry and his current surly, sour mood not be anywhere near the new nurse. "Then we thought, why don't we try for more than just that?"

Brandon furrowed his brow, confused as to what Daughtry meant by more than simply getting information on Ace - what could this other nurse do besides that? And what would happen once Nurse Jones got back from her break? That could be at any moment now, and Brandon didn't like those odds, didn't like the thought of his hopes sinking once more. "Danny came up with that part," David chimed in, shaking his head at the enthusiasm he had seen from their mentoring charge. "Leave it to him to think up something brilliant and illegal. While Chris is over there distracting the nurse, you can sneak in past the desk to find Ace."

A bit too shocked to speak, Brandon's mind wanted to hammer out the flaws in logic and execution in his friends' plan, but all he could focus his mindpower on was the thought of seeing Ace, of being able to know that he was okay. And even if he wasn't, just to be there to hold Ace's hand, and let him know Brandon was there for him through whatever hell they might face...that thought was so desirable to Brandon it was intoxicating, and to hell with whatever mistakes may be in their methods.

Elliott was the one to speak up on the practicality of the plan. "There's no guaranteeing you won't get caught once you get by the nurses' station," he said, the sympathetic frown on his face telling Brandon that while he had to be the pessimist in the group, in his heart he wanted the plan to work flawlessly. Brandon nodded in understanding; Elliott knew that nothing he said mattered to Brandon, if there was even the slightest chance that he could get in to see Ace he would take it regardless of any other dangers in the way.

Turning to the rest of the group, Brandon looked hopeful, already knowing he would take this chance, but he had to let the rest of them know he was also being realistic. "I might not find out anything," he said uneasily; his and Ace's friends could have gone through all the trouble of this plan and at the end their minds might still not be at rest.

"That doesn't matter." It came from Blake, who had torn his gaze away from his boyfriend's undesirable duty to address Brandon, his eyes sincere, happy he could finally do something for his friend. "What matters is that _you_ get to see him." He took a deep breath, saying what was on everyone's mind but no one had dared to say aloud. "What they're doing...it isn't right. You need him...and he needs you."

A surge of emotion swelled in Brandon's heart; that his friends, Ace's friends, were going through all this time and trouble to set this plan in motion without any personal payoff for themselves, only to help reunite Brandon with the love of his life. He wanted to thank each and every one of them, tell them how much their efforts meant to him and that he knew it would mean the world to Ace as well, but the look of relieved gratitude on his face was all the other men needed. "Thank you," he said, his voice choked with emotion and anticipation.

It didn't matter what stood in his way now; he was determined to see Ace, at any cost.

Blake jutted out his chin towards the large, heavy swinging doors beside the nurses' station: doctors and staff bustled in and out of the doors without notice to others passing through the gates, and now that the head nurse was away no one was to watch the door with hawk-like precision. "Get a move on," he encouraged Brandon towards those doors, towards Ace. "My boyfriend can't make chit-chat for you forever."

Brandon gave a quick look around to the excited, hopeful faces around him, and his spirit felt lifted in a way it hadn't been ever since he saw Ace's abandoned suit in their bedroom so many hours before. Blake was right, though: he wouldn't have much time to sneak out of the waiting room and into the emergency center, let alone get enough time to locate Ace. He had to move quickly; he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

With silent, light steps he worked his way over towards the doors, the nurse still engrossed in her conversation with Chris, her back turned towards him. He gave Chris the slightest of nods with the weight of a thousand words of gratitude behind it, knowing that at the end of this ordeal he owed so much to his friends for this, at the very least a round at the Cake Shop on his tab.

One glance back into the waiting room, and one deep, steeling breath later, and Brandon pushed the doors open and slipped inside, the only thought on his mind his determination to find his love.


	11. Chapter 11

          _June 2005_

The sun still sparkled diligently above the canopies of oak and birch, and beyond that it slipped through the cracks and crawl spaces between brick and mortar and heights of quite a different nature. It shone with a stubbornness through the trees, determined to remain as bright and unyielding as it had been all day, but the effects of time, as on all things, was inescapable, and despite all its power the sun, like all things, would eventually set, sink below the horizon, and cast the city into inky blue night. All things had a beginning, a bright, brief flourish, and thanks to father time, an end. 

Brandon knew in his heart that his love for Ace Young defied that natural law. 

"You're hogging the armrest." He felt a nudge from the shoulder beside him, playful and benign; he was taking full possession of the slim armrest between them but the other man didn't seem to mind, instead taking the advantage of an occupied armrest to drape his arm across Brandon's shoulders, strong and sure. Brandon thought that neither man was truly bothered by the arrangement. 

He responded by moving in closer, splaying his upper body across the armrest in retaliation, a grin on his face because it only succeeded in bringing the couple closer. "No, now I'm hogging the armrest," he joked, leaning to rest his head in the crook of Ace's neck, breathing in his scent, like summer. He loved this position, despite the armrest now digging unpleasantly into his ribcage; he could feel the vibrations in Ace's body every time he spoke, feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathed. 

"I still think we should have sat down there," Ace pointed with his free hand half a dozen rows below them in the amphitheater, the seats empty and steaming from the dying summer heat. Brandon and his good friend Andrew Jackson had convinced the ticketing agent to let them into the Delacorte early that year, long before even the actors showed up for that evening's performance. When he had started coming to the annual Shakespeare in the Park performances it was to people-watch, gaze and catch snapshots of New York and its people from his unique angle. Now, he loved it best when the theater was empty, and he could unabashedly and proudly gaze at the one person he truly wanted to. 

Brandon recognized those seats immediately, knew almost instantly their significance and re-imagined in his mind the day like it had been only moments ago when it was actually years. The scene almost played out before him, the young man who usually preferred to watch from the bleachers boldly becoming a spectator no more, addressing the younger man for the first time, who took off his sunglasses, smiling; and the romance began. His breath still deliciously hitched in his throat whenever he thought of that first moment, those eyes and that grin he fell in love with at first glance. 

"No one to bother us up here," he replied, enjoying the sparkle in the green eyes that looked back at him as much as he had the first time, as much as he did every time. 

The chuckle reverberated through Ace's body; Brandon could feel it through his t-shirt, could feel it through his skin. "You planning on doing something that might get us caught?" his voice dropped an octave though there was no one around to overhear, and the timbre caused Brandon to shiver with pleasure. He cuddled in closer as a response, the simmering heat of the summer doing nothing to deter them from staying as physically close as public places would allow. "I never really liked this play anyway," Ace reasoned as Brandon's fingers slid from the armrest and seductively brushed against the denim along his lover's inner thigh. 

That admission brought Brandon's head up in attention, eyebrows raised in mock alarm. "How do you not like this play?" he asked, shocked as if his boyfriend had just admitted he dabbled in mass genocide back in high school. 

Ace shrugged, looking evermore like the jock in faded sweats Brandon first mistook him for when they first met. "Nothing happens," he said simply, causing Brandon to balk even more. "They run around the forest. Women dress up as men. Everyone gets married in the end. _Macbeth_ , it is not." 

"I'm _so_ sorry," Brandon said dramatically, rolling his eyes and winning a playful slap to the chest from Ace, "that not enough people are murdered in this play to keep your attention." 

He expected a quick retort lobbed back to him as per their usual routine, but when he looked up towards Ace he caught a serene smile instead. It lulled his playful mood instantly into a calm, loving state, that fullness he felt in his heart every time he looked at Ace working full-force. He knew it didn't matter where in the theater they had decided to sit, or if they had been in the theater at all that day; it wouldn't change how he felt in his heart for this man, how every moment he saw that smile directed at him was a gift. 

"I love you," said the younger man, the hand at Brandon's shoulder squeezing, pulling him in, Ace's voice heavy with emotion. Brandon thought he would never tire of hearing those words from Ace's lips, how his voice wrapped around every syllable and came from deep within his heart. 

"I love you, too." He would have closed his eyes and let the words seep into his memory, savor them like a gourmet meal, if only it didn't mean he had to tear his gaze away from the deep green eyes staring back at him, ones he fell in love with years ago on this very day. 

With his free hand Ace picked Brandon's hand up in his, musing to himself how in the orange remnants of the sun's rays their flesh almost seemed to glow. "Four years," he said, not particularly to Brandon or to anyone, but allowing his thoughts to take audible shape as he stared at the contrast of Brandon's dark skin against his own. He once likened the couple early in their relationship to an Oreo cookie; Brandon laughed, reminded Ace that he lived in New York City now, and as such the correct term would have been a black-and-white. "It feels like only yesterday you walked over to me, right at those seats." 

Brandon merely made a pleasant noise of assent, preferring not to ruin the moment with words of his own. Ace rarely waxed poetic to him, usually letting his eyes and his body do the talking for him, and he never got so vocally nostalgic in the Delacorte with Brandon in the years they had been returning to the theater in which they first met. Brandon didn't care to analyze or ponder on the reason, just settle in and enjoy the soft hum of their bodies together as Ace spoke. 

"You have no idea," Ace's voice was barely above a whisper as he brushed a thumb against the knuckles along Brandon's left hand, lingering a second longer on the fourth finger from the right thoughtfully. "How much you changed my life in that one moment." His mind was distant, years away but only a few rows below them, to the moment when his heart nearly stopped from the surprise and joy of meeting Brandon Rogers. He had become more open to others and to himself about who he really was, and what he finally allowed himself to feel, thanks to Brandon and the effortlessness of loving him. He would never be able to thank the older man enough for what he helped Ace discover about himself, and for sending that love back tenfold. Being with Brandon, here, in the place where they first fell in love...well, it felt like being truly alive. 

Bringing up their joined hands with a sincere smile on his face, Ace brought each of Brandon's knuckles to his lips, planting a tender kiss on each one and reveling in the contented sigh he felt run through Brandon's body. Brandon found himself hoping the performance that night would be inexplicably canceled and they would have the entire amphitheater to themselves until dusk, wishing for the day to remain like this forever. "Happy anniversary," he whispered, knowing that these years of loving Ace were only the beginning of a lifetime together. 

"Happy anniversary," Ace said back, replacing Brandon's knuckles against his mouth with lips, putting all of his emotion behind one simple kiss. 

Time waited long enough to prove there was an end to all things, but as far as Brandon was concerned, he would love Ace long after the world could end.

*** 

          _May 2008_

Brandon had no idea where to even begin to look. His friends had gone through great pains to distract the break nurse and allow him to slip in past the forbidding doors of the emergency room, but now he was on his own, alone with only one driving purpose but with absolutely no clue on how to get there. Fear gripped him that at any moment a nurse's assistant or a nosy orderly would notice how out of place he was in the halls, and this search would be over before it began. 

He couldn't let that happen; he had to find Ace, now more than ever, and he wouldn't let anything stop him. 

Hugging the walls and the shadows scattered in the hallway, Brandon made his way through the mess of noise and toil in the ER, past trauma rooms fluttering with activity too dire for anyone to notice him. The corridors seemed endless and the danger of being caught was always upon him; would he even be able to find Ace here? What if they had relocated him? The absence of any information for hours was proving to once again be Brandon's downfall, but he persisted. He always said, back when the relationship was young and the worries of tragedy were far from anyone's mind, that he would go to the ends of the Earth for Ace, that no force from heaven or hell could separate them for long. He wasn't about to let a daunting hospital wing faze him. 

But when he turned a corner past the busy critical care rooms, he found a hall that was quiet and near deserted, the windows to each room along the corridor open and unshuttered with nothing to hide. Brandon took a deep breath and began investigating each room; pushing down to the pit of his stomach the feeling he was visiting death itself ghosting through these halls. 

Almost as if directed by the invisible string of fate, Brandon went towards a room down near the end of the corridor, where it felt like the hospital itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Peering in through the glass he saw a well-lit room lined with whirring equipment and tubes it would take a lifetime for Brandon to understand. At the center of it all was a wheeled hospital bed, almost a gurney, that held its charge carefully, if not comfortably. Brandon couldn't see the face of the unmoving patient but he saw a foot peeking out from underneath a hospital-grade blanket, large, pale, and familiar. He wanted to thank the heavens that he saw no tags on any of those beloved toes. 

The door was unlocked and unguarded, and the moment Brandon entered the room he knew he had found what he was looking for but in a tragically twisted way. He had found Ace, but it was a painful and jarring state he was in, even after the telltale marks and bandages of professional care. His body underneath the blanket looked foreign and broken, so different from the able-bodied avid runner who left their apartment that morning. Tubes of life-giving liquid were tucked into incisions on his arms and hands, serums Brandon didn't have the faintest idea about except the dark red IV he was certain contained blood. There were heavy bandages protruding out at his left shoulder from underneath the blanket and hospital gown, like football padding fused onto Ace's bones. 

But all Brandon could notice were the bandages wrapped around Ace's head, long strands of hair Brandon loved to run his fingers through on sleepy Sunday mornings peeking through and stringing along on a motionless face. And his face...the strong beauty Brandon had always found in Ace's chiseled features was marred with cuts and gashes, with a deep scratch along the jawline swelling and making him so unrecognizable as the man Brandon gave his heart to. He looked in a tragic state, with injuries Brandon was sure he couldn't see, and his still body surrounded by life-saving devices looked more vulnerable than Brandon had ever seen him in nearly seven years. 

Brandon cupped a palm to his mouth to muffle the startled cry he felt welling up inside him at the sight, tears springing to his eyes and the force of this reality hitting him like a punch to the chest. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he first went on his search; he knew Ace had been in bad shape, he had to have been for this whole day to happen the way it did, he should have known to see him with some pain and injury if he found him here. But nothing could have prepared him for this, Ace lying so fragile and broken, the physical reminder that everything had changed for them in an instant and nothing could go back to the carefree way it had been that morning. Brandon could only imagine the pain Ace had been in to get to this, and what pain he might still be in despite his silent state, the unconsciousness that without the cuts and broken limbs could have been mistaken for peaceful, deep sleep. 

He thought about the last words he said to him, that he didn't want to be his husband, and his own callousness made Brandon want to weep. 

"Oh, Ace." His whisper was feather-light and could barely be heard over the hum of the machines in the room, but it was meant to be heard by no other, a personal cry and a plea that escaped Brandon's lips more from instinct than volition. He wanted to turn away, to give in to that foolish thought that if the pain was out of sight, it wouldn't exist entirely, but his loyalty to the man in that hospital bed forced him not to look away. Whatever his heart was feeling - that sinking, churning doubt that anyone could survive with the injuries Ace sustained - he had to push that aside, push that fear away, in order to be there for his love. 

As he approached the bed in the center of the room that apprehension went away, dropped through the floor with each step as he came closer to Ace, could see every cut and wound on his face like he had read emotions there before. The bed rose up to Brandon's hips, the perfect height to reach over and brush his fingers against Ace's wrist, his arm, up along the damaged skin on his face. Brandon knew he shouldn't interfere too much lest something go terribly wrong, but the temptation to touch him was too overpowering, to feel that familiar warmth and know that despite it all, he was here, and Ace was here, and that being together was all that mattered. 

Peering down at his lover's still face, Brandon found himself whispering "I love you" without thinking, the phrase coming so naturally to him when regarding Ace that he wouldn't ever consider not saying it, not now when that emotion was more crucial to him than anything. He brushed aside an errant strand of Ace's hair off his forehead, his fingers lingering along the skin carefully so as not to reopen any wounds, afraid that everything might fall apart. Without thinking the words started spilling out, his voice choked with emotion, unsure if Ace could even hear him but determined to get out what he felt in his heart. 

"You are _strong_ ," he insisted, the words Ace's brother had assured him over the phone springing to mind as his own encouragement for his love. "You're brave, Ace, and you're strong, and you're going to get through this, I know you will." He inwardly chided himself for his eagerness, his tone sounding more like a plea than a declaration. He wanted to believe Ace would come through this okay and well, and he wanted Ace to believe that, too; but desperately wanting to believe and believing itself were two drastically different things. He added in a smaller, more vulnerable voice, "You've _got_ to." 

He shook his head, tears threatening to erupt and his quivering voice threatening to allow it. But if he cried, if he cried now, it would be less of an emotional release and more about giving up, of relinquishing hope, and that was one thing Brandon couldn't afford to lose. "I don't..." He thought of the moments he shared with Ace over the years, of every moment with him, and how he couldn't recall a time when he considered life without him. "I don't know what I'd do without you." 

Instead of crying the last statement made Brandon laugh, a bitter sound from his throat that had nothing to do with real amusement. "No pressure or anything." He peered down at that face, marred by pavement rash and wounds no one should have to endure; this was about more than just Brandon's desire and need to have Ace well again. This was about all of those people in the waiting room, hanging on for the news that would lift everyone's hearts, and those on the island of Manhattan and beyond whose lives would be a little dimmer, less vibrant, without Ace Young. Brandon knew in his heart that he wasn't the only one who could feel the emptiness of a world without Ace, but he would certainly feel it the worst. 

As he grew quiet, barely breathing over the fragment of a thought running through his mind, that phrase "without Ace" that made the room shrink and the air around him feel stifling, the noise of the machines grew louder in his head, roaring as loud as a rushing river. He was letting his emotions overtake him, he knew that rush of panic well, and he was afraid being this close to Ace he wouldn't be able to stop it. He leaned in closer to Ace, trying to catch the familiar scent of his shampoo, of his very skin, but all he was greeted by was the smell of sanitized wounds underneath layers of plaster and gauze. 

"You..." he whispered softly, fingers still caressing whatever unblemished skin he found, sweeping his thumb gently over Ace's temple. Allowing his eyes to drift closed, he felt the weight of every syllable, every breath deep in his heart, and hoped Ace knew it inside him as well. "You're everything to me." 

Almost seven years raced through Brandon's memory, moments with Ace that felt like a lifetime and stretches of time that passed in the blink of an eye: the first time they had met, kissed...the moment Brandon knew he'd spend the rest of his life loving this man. Fate couldn't let it end now, not like this, not when Brandon had to sneak in past dozens of hospital workers and one adamant and overworked head nurse just to see Ace, the indignity not lost on him but ignored for more pressing thoughts. If they got through that night, if whatever god was listening gave him more time to love Ace and be loved in return, he knew he would work to right this, to never let something like this happen again, or have Ace experience the pain he felt today. And he knew exactly what he had to do to make that happen. 

He pressed his lips against Ace's forehead, the flesh still warm and blood flowing underneath, but it was the first time Brandon had ever kissed him without any response, and it scared Brandon more than he ever thought possible. " _Please,_ " he said, not knowing if the plea was to Ace, or to God, or just something his mouth came up with to distract his mind from how dire the situation seemed. He couldn't even bring himself to complete his words - _Please, don't let him die; Please, let him be alright; Please...I need you._

"You're not supposed to be in here..." 

Brandon shot his head up, back straight and tense as he heard the unfamiliar voice come from the entrance to the room. It was the replacement nurse, her body language startled rather than stern, with one hand on the doorknob and the other at her chest, her squat frame close enough for Brandon to read the ID card that said "Melinda Doolittle" on her lapel. Apparently the charm of his friend Chris Richardson only worked for a set amount of time before a nurse, smitten, flattered or otherwise, had to return to her duties. 

A striking fear ran through Brandon like a lightning rod bolted to the ground, his eyes widening in panic. This was exactly what he had been afraid of when he passed through the doors to the emergency room wings, what the others were worried about but kept a strong front for the couple's sake. They'd ask him to leave, he knew it, and at this point he doubted anything in the world could pull him from Ace's side. The hours of that awful silence on his condition, the mere forbidding yards apart that felt worse than miles...and the relief, the warm, comforting feeling that enveloped him like an embrace when he returned to Ace's side. These were things not easily shoved aside by Brandon, and not without protest. 

"Please," he said again, but this time to the nurse, whose eyes held both impatience and pity. His tone was desperate, pleading just short of getting on his knees, but his body was fiercely still, refusing to break the physical connection with Ace. "Just a few more minutes, I'm begging you." He sounded like a child, requesting five more minutes in the warm, dry comfort of bed before trudging out to school in the snow...but he knew the cold he'd feel if he were to be separated from Ace now would be more devastating than any blizzard nature could devise. 

It broke his heart to see the nurse shake her head sadly, the frown on her face a world more sympathetic than the grimace on Nurse Jones's face when she initially rebuffed Brandon's requests. If there had been anything she could have done to let him stay there, even for a few moments more, she would have, but Brandon's presence was not only against more than a few hospital policies, it could contaminate the room and its patient at a crucial stage in his post-operation recovery. "You're going to have to leave." 

Brandon felt his eyes well with tears, his vision blurring; he wasn't going to become frantic, _would not_ get hysterical in front of this woman, but it was hard not to despise her for her words and want to fight like hell to stay. He looked at her with pleading eyes, careful not to raise his voice to alert others to his whereabouts. "I won't leave him," he said stubbornly, his hand brushing along Ace's bandaged shoulders, his arm, down to fingers he wished with his whole heart would lovingly curl around his own, as always. "I can't." 

The nurse's eyes weren't on his face, on the tears threatening to erupt there, but on his hand and the places it was traveling. It was clear to her there was love there, a deep devotion to the other man that surpassed the boundaries of the law. This was the part of the job she hated, the part where she had to hide her own emotions and common sense behind hospital policy. But the healthcare professional inside her overruled her compassion; she wanted to let Brandon stay there for as long as he needed, but it simply wasn't medically safe. 

"If you stay," she said slowly, unsure what this man might be capable of in his emotional state, "There's a high risk of infection. It's why he's isolated right now; he's not out of the woods yet." 

He returned his gaze down to Ace's still fingers, his hands, and up to his face, concern edging in past the faith and fear. If there was one thing he wouldn't be able to stand, it would be that he somehow made Ace's condition worse; he'd never be able to live with himself in that case. But the nurse's words - "He's not out of the woods yet" - made his heart go out to the younger man, made him yearn to stay by his side, knowing that giving that up might mean giving up everything. 

Sensing the hesitation in Brandon's body, the nurse continued, knowing that the safety of the patient was her first priority. "I won't tell a soul about this," she said, shaking her head, her voice steady and reassuring to Brandon. "You can walk out that door, back into the waiting room, and no one else is gonna know." Her words relieved Brandon slightly, hoping that his presence in the room would stay between these two, and with Ace. If there was one thing he feared now more than leaving Ace's side, it was being removed from the hospital premises for good - and possibly never being by Ace's side again. 

"You can come back in to see him the moment it's safe," she said, gaining confidence, but at this Brandon's face fell, his heart sinking deep into that growing pit that had been gnawing away at him for hours now. She didn't know about their circumstances, she couldn't have: how everything about Ace had been withheld from Brandon, that he had been sitting in that waiting room for hours without any word if the love of his life was alive or dead. The truth behind it was that she would never be able to let Brandon into that room without the permission of the Youngs or Ace himself; the fact that he had to go through such drastic measures just to see him frustrated Brandon, threw him into a defeated turmoil from which only one person in the world could pull him out. 

"No," he said sadly; he forced his will and his optimism to hold steady on Ace's well-being, but he was drained and beaten when it came to their rights. "I can't." But even as he said this and knew he might not be able to return soon, Brandon knew he had to leave for the sake of Ace's health, and if he would rather leave of his own will than be forced out permanently, like a criminal. It was breaking his heart to know he was there, he had been right there with Ace, and now he had to go, leaving Ace to an uncertain fate. Brandon had held as strong as his heart had allowed for the longest hours of his life, but he truly didn't know how much he would be able to endure until he broke. 

He gave a slight squeeze to Ace's hand; he might have to leave his side, but he would never leave _him_.


	12. Chapter 12

          _October 2006_

 

"These are Knicks tickets." The envelope weighed heavy in Brandon's hand, each of the little blue and orange ticket slips fanned out between his fingers, gleaming bright and gaudy in his grasp. The last time he held something this valuable was when he cradled Ace's newest nephew in his arms last Christmas. 

Ace was practically beaming, toned arms crossed in front of his chest with pride, smile so bright he could light all of TriBeCa with its shine. "That they are." 

Brandon couldn't help but stare at them in shock, his face frozen in surprise ever since he discovered the little envelope from Madison Square Garden underneath the loaf of bread in the fridge. This certainly derailed his thoughts of an uneventful yet pleasant lazy Sunday breakfast with his boyfriend. He counted the tickets quickly in his head, eyes widening as the number grew. "They're...season tickets, Ace." 

"I couldn't get courtside," Ace explained; those had all been snatched up quickly by senior partners, though he suspected Mr. Lythgoe preferred discounted tickets to the ballet than to basketball. "But they're only a few rows back. You could spit on Jack Nicholson if you wanted...not that I think you want to spit on Jack Nicholson, but..." 

For the first time since finding the tickets Brandon tore his gaze away from them, up to the satisfied face of his boyfriend, eyes scrutinizing to tell if this was a joke. "It's not my birthday," he said warily. 

"Well, of course it's not your birthday, that's in December," Ace replied, rolling his eyes. Did his boyfriend really think he didn't know when his birthday was? 

"And it's not our anniversary," Brandon pressed. 

Ace narrowed his eyes, the grin growing larger. "That's in June, sweetie." 

Brandon looked down at the tickets again, little slips of card stock he had coveted since he was a child and thought he could rationally hike to the Garden from his parents' home and trade in the new sweater his grandmother bought him to see at the very least the toss-up. Now he had them, here, coupled together like a full set of Topps cards, and he couldn't even fathom how they got there. 

Taking the shocked expression on his face as a sign of silent amazement and gratitude, Ace puffed out his chest in pride, knowing Brandon's reaction was what made it all worth it. "I got them through a contact at the firm - you're not the only one with contacts, you know." He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of a smile on Brandon's face, his voice going softer with his plans revealed. "There's no special occasion; I just wanted to get them for you. I knew you'd love it." 

But the look on Brandon's face was far from a smile, and loving the gift was not the first thing on his mind. He knew from many a year of longing that these tickets were both expensive and hard to come by, they were a vision from his dreams that Ace plucked out of the ether and handed to him over breakfast coffee. It was so easy for him to give this to Brandon, without even a second thought about its price; one of the many benefits to being a well-paid contract lawyer. The spacious apartment, the elite restaurants and exclusive plays Brandon never even dreamed of attending.... For years Brandon had been on his own, working hard to stay in college, keep his apartment, and occasionally have money remaining for food; it was difficult but rewarding in the end, knowing that all he had and what he accomplished was his own. Now, living with Ace after the younger man graduated from law school, it was evident that while they liked to say everything was theirs, the signature on the checks to pay the bills told a different story. 

Brandon couldn't throw money around and spend impulsively; he never could, though there wasn't anything he wished for more than to shower his lover with lavish gifts and tokens of his affection. The season tickets in his hand were a startling reminder that where Brandon could not, Ace could, and did, without even needing a reason. 

"I can't take these," he said numbly, gaze transfixed on the tickets, refusing to look up and see the startled look in Ace's eyes. 

"Of course you can," insisted Ace, brows furrowing together. There hadn't been one season since he had known Brandon that the older man had missed a Knicks game on television, even through the dry spells when most fair-weathered fans moved on to greener pastures. "They're good seats, right? I can try to get better ones if you want -" 

"No!" Brandon interrupted, in a tone more forceful than he usually ever took with Ace. The younger man just wasn't getting it, didn't understand that the quality of the tickets wasn't the problem but the act of gifting them itself made Brandon uneasy. He repeated, holding the tickets in an outstretched arm back at Ace. "I said I can't take them!" 

Ace's smile fell; Brandon never acted this way and he couldn't understand what was going on. Was there something wrong with the tickets...or was it the fact that Ace was gifting them to him that was the problem? "I thought you would like them," he said, failing at masking the hurt in his tone. 

Brandon did like the tickets but not the situation they were presented to him. For years he and Ace had emotionally been on an even keel, neither man pressing any kind of superiority over the other, and Brandon wished to keep it that way. If Ace gave him these tickets - a gift that Brandon couldn't reciprocate both in terms of price and sentimental value - it could change that dynamic between them that had worked for so many years. It could change everything. "But now I've got to get something for you," he shook the tickets in his hand, not noticing the intensity with which he held them or the volume of his voice, and Ace stepped back suddenly, as if the tickets were dipped in poison. 

"You don't have to get me anything!" Ace exclaimed, frustrated, his hands in the air and away from the tickets in Brandon's possession. He hadn't meant to shout, his voice reverberating off the walls in strange ways that were foreign to the apartment, it having never heard either man raise his voice in anger. Running anxious, frustrated fingers through his hair, he took another step away from Brandon until his back hit the cold, painted wood of the front door, its brass doorknob sticking into the small of his back, feeling like a loaded gun. He couldn't fathom how this had all gone so wrong, how wanting to get something nice for the love of his life turned into such an issue. All that he could think about was how he had never backed away from Brandon Rogers before; only towards him, towards that love. 

"Yes, I do!" Brandon persisted, feeling uneasy just holding the tickets in his hand without anything to show his love for Ace in return. Their relationship had grown to be one of deep love and mutual respect, two vital and, as Brandon thought of it, equal balances on a scale. The tickets in his hand were threatening that scale to tip, topple, and possibly come crashing to the ground. He didn't want to lose the loving stability they had developed for years; he didn't want to change _anything._ "No one gives presents like this unless they're expecting something in return. I don't know what you were thinking -" 

The frustration inside him and the shock of seeing his gift almost thrown back in his face by the man he loved turned quickly to anger; Ace's temper was rarely tested but when it was it burned hot as fire and just as intense. He reached forward and snatched the tickets roughly from Brandon's hand, the tickets that seemed to be the cause of a ruined calm Sunday morning. "If it's this much trouble," he said gruffly, "I'll return them." 

His hand was halfway to the doorknob despite the fact that the tickets were sold non-returnable, and there wouldn't be a self-respecting ticketing agent in the country who'd be open on a Sunday, when Brandon spoke up, his own blood pressure rising from the argument. "It's not about the tickets!" He wanted to tell him what it was really about, his insecurities, his fears; how those little slips of paper could mean a shift in their relationship Brandon wasn't willing to make. But the words wouldn't come out, he couldn't form them in his head fast enough to rationalize his actions. And he couldn't bring himself to utter the cliche "it's not you, it's me," not to Ace. 

Ace looked over his shoulder, waiting for the explanation or apology; his heart sank when there was none, only Brandon, a defeated look on his face, hand still outstretched from when he held the tickets and refused to accept them as a token of Ace's love. "When you figure out what it is about, then, call me, because I'd really like to know." With that he stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him and leaving Brandon in the living room, grasping for words. 

It wasn't until the cool October winds hit his face somewhere on Canal Street, cooling his temper and sweeping sense into his mind, that Ace realized he and Brandon had never left a room angry with each other before, in over five years since that first night at the Delacorte. And by the time he reached the destination his feet chose - across the languid Hudson River via PATH, to the Daughtry's house in Jersey City - he feared he might not have the chance to make up for it.

***

Chris Daughtry eyed the little slips of card stock in his hand with the scrutiny of a criminologist, eyes squinting in the light of his living room, investigating every ink blot short of biting them for authenticity. "Can I have the tickets?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow towards the young man on his couch, head in his hands. 

"What?" Ace picked his head up, a scowl on his face. He had come here for consolation and advice, not as a scalper. 

"Well, I'm more a Devil's fan myself, but if he doesn't want them -" 

Shaking his head, Ace returned his gaze to the carpet, Daughtry's phrase "he doesn't want them" repeating on a loop track in his mind. "No, you can't have them," he managed, trying to will that last image of Brandon shoving those tickets back at him out of his memory. 

He had come all this way - under a river and through the urban woods of downtown Jersey City, but this certainly wasn't Grandma's house - for a sage, the only man he knew in the Tri-State area with a better track record at love than his own; his father, of course, being the pinnacle of such success to him, but he didn't plan to wake the old man up across the country to talk about his love life. Chris Daughtry was a green newlywed when Ace met him over six years ago, when he grinned at the sound of his wedding band clinking against a bottle of LaBatt and didn't hesitate to pull out the wallet full of photos of toddlers that weren't yet his. If anyone could help him decipher just what was going on in Brandon's mind, it was Daughtry. 

"I just don't understand," he said; he had ran it through all theories of logic in his mind on the subway ride in, scrutinizing Brandon's words and actions, trying to find their meaning. "I know he'd want these tickets; he loves the Knicks. I had to fight off three other junior partners to even get the chance to buy these." Ace was going to hide the tickets in his office until Brandon's birthday in two months, but he didn't want to take the chance that his boyfriend would make irrevocable plans on a playoff date, and besides, the imagined expression of joy and gratitude on Brandon's face, it had been too deliciously tempting to keep stashed in a desk drawer. 

He hadn't in his deepest thoughts considered Brandon would throw the tickets back in his face. 

"But he said it wasn't about the tickets," Daughtry recalled, mulling the details Ace had relayed to him over in his mind. Ace could nearly see the gears churning in his friend's head through cloudy brown eyes. 

Nodding solemnly, Ace put his head in his hand again, running his fingers through hair that had grown greasy over the hour from his nervous habit. "Yeah, so?" 

Daughtry shrugged his shoulders, tattooed arms crossed against his chest. For all the critical and logical thinking his best friend prided himself upon, there were times he really couldn't see the forest for the trees. "Have you thought, maybe...it's not about the tickets?" 

He had thought about it, of course, he had a lot to think about on the train ride out to Jersey City, but it was the one point he didn't dare entertain in his mind. If this whole thing wasn't about the tickets, he thought with a sinking heart, then it had to be about him, and he didn't know if he could stand that. But he also knew that Brandon never lied to him, not about something important; Ace would rather this be a lie than it be the terrifying alternative. "I just wanted to get him something nice...something special," he admitted. "I didn't want anything in return, I don't expect him to get me anything. I gave it to him because I could...because I love him." 

Digging the heel of his hand into the muscles above his brow - an attempt to massage the negative thoughts and doubt out of his head but instead only bringing on a dull throbbing that was sure to be a headache soon - Ace didn't even notice the slump of the couch's weight until he felt Daughtry's arm reassuringly over his shoulders. They stayed like that for three minutes - Ace could count the seconds from the ticking clock above the mantle, it was easier than ruminating on the dark thoughts in his head - until Daughtry finally broke the silence. The officer didn't waste much time with frivolous words, Ace learned this early in their friendship, so when he felt the need to speak up, people listened. 

"When Deanna and I first started out," he began, "times were tough. You know we had a lot on our plate. Money was a big issue." 

Ace's brow knit together in confusion. "What are you talking about? Deanna always had the business, didn't she?" He knew Daughtry when he was first married, and got to know his bride Deanna fairly well in time. A newly single mother of two with a bright smile and a deceivingly high aptitude for poker, Deanna had been far from a damsel in distress when Daughtry had met her, and he far from a knight in shining armor. She had been working in the office at her father's landscaping business since she could hold a pen, and when the old man retired the company was handed down to her. Thriving underneath her watchful eye, the business allowed them to find a spacious apartment in Jersey City, close enough to Manhattan for Daughtry to get to work yet still within a decent distance to the suburban lawns Deanna depended upon. As far as Ace knew, money had never been an issue with the family. 

Daughtry rolled his eyes; Ace _had_ dated women at one point in his life, he figured the other man would have retained something from that time. "Yeah,  she had the business," he explained, "and that was doing great. But I was still a rookie then, right out of the Academy, making a shit salary and giving most of that back to pay for my uniform. There I was, finally a cop like I always wanted," he took a big sigh, a smile on his face now that revealed reminiscent frowns from years before. "But my wife was paying rent every month, and the bills, and daycare. I wasn't providing for the people I loved; hell, I wasn't even providing for myself." 

A swath of memory sprinted across Ace's mind: Brandon, proudly presenting his first paycheck from the radio station in the infancy of their relationship, beaming over the fact that he could once again afford heat in the winter months. Brandon, constantly griping about all the things that went wrong in their first little apartment, but secretly loving it for being all his own. Brandon, who struggled for years on his own after his family abandoned him, and loved independence second only to loving Ace. 

"I knew working together was how our marriage would last - what's yours is ours, and all that - but at the time? I thought I wasn't pulling enough weight, and it was eatin' me up inside." From the stoic, grumpy exterior Ace knew Daughtry to have when he wasn't in the best of moods, he wondered how anyone would have noticed the other man's inner turmoil at the time. "All I'm saying is...back then, if Deanna got me a gift I had wanted my whole life - and for no reason, other than she could - it would have made me feel damn awful I couldn't do the same for her." 

It was like a gauzy veil had been lifted from the mystery of Brandon's reaction in Ace's mind: it finally made sense why the man who had always prided himself on his independence and self-sufficiency felt so strongly about his gift. He had been thinking about it from the entirely wrong perspective: his own. He should have known from the years of adjusting his logical thinking pattern to Brandon's emotionally-fueled one that his take on the events would be wildly different from Ace's; he chided himself for seemingly not knowing enough about the love of his life to realize this. 

"Do you think..." he asked, thinking back to the small shifts in their relationship like the movements of the ocean after he graduated law school and started receiving a salary at the firm, "Do you think that's how Brandon's feeling right now? I never meant to hurt him or to make him feel bad about the tickets..." 

Those words certainly did not need to be said twice; Daughtry had known from the first time Ace had talked to him about Brandon that he would never want to hurt the other man. "There's only one way to find that out for sure," he said, rising from the couch with a quick pat of encouragement to Ace's shoulder. "And you know what it is." Leaning casually against the doorframe to the Daughtry's living room, the officer hiked a thumb through the empty space; Ace had a mission now, and any later would be overstaying his welcome. "I'm kicking you out," Daughtry declared, much to Ace's amusement. "Get your ass back home where it should be." 

Ace rose to his feet, grinning at his friend with gratitude and snatching back the set of Knicks tickets in his hand and followed the path of that thumb out of the Daughtry's house, through the streets of Jersey City and across the Hudson back to New York.

***

He was waiting when the door opened; sitting on the edge of the couch they had found on a rare trip to Park Slope and couldn't live without; like he had never left the room, nothing more important in his life than waiting for that front door to open again. He rose slowly, eyes locked to Ace's in the doorway, his steps metered and deliberate until they were only standing inches apart. Like a sole body acting as one, the pair embraced, familiar arms encircling Ace's chest and coming to rest below his shoulder blades, Brandon's cheek alongside his. 

Later they would discuss the argument, the one fight beyond a simple disagreement either man could remember having with one another, until late into the night when they could barely keep their eyes open from exhaustion, like the first night they had met. They would talk about how Brandon saw insurmountable dollar signs where Ace only saw a demonstration of his affection, how change and transition inevitably approached their relationship and the different ways each man came to greet it. They'd cry, they'd laugh, they'd make love and make promises about keeping conscious of each other's feelings and never letting money come in the way of their relationship again. They would agree that, despite what they represented in their relationship, Ace and Brandon were keeping the tickets. 

But for now, in these arms that felt like home and with a kiss that asked for nothing but to love and be loved for the rest of their days, Ace knew there were no words needed between them.

***

          _May 2008_

"There you are! I've been looking for you for-fucking-ever!" 

Brandon knew the voice, that confidence that bordered on cocky in the timbre, before he could even see the figure rushing towards him down the hall. He had been wandering in a haze, eyes trained to the ground and hands balled into frustrated fists, fingernails digging into the heel of his palms to take his mind off other pains. He couldn't go back to the hospital room, not after he was kicked out, though his heart ached with every beat to be back there, by Ace's side. And while the plan his friends had so altruistically concocted was a success, he felt he couldn't go back without feeling, at least in his own heart, that he was a failure. He left the man he loved, lying in a hospital bed and fighting for life, because a nurse kindly asked him to. How could he explain that away to those in the waiting room - or to himself? 

The one thing Brandon knew was that he was definitely not in a mood to talk with Danny Noriega right now. 

Bounding up in a flurry of black and violet, Danny stretched his arms out wide, his breath labored but exaggerated over his search. "You could _not_ have been here this whole fucking time, I've looked up and down this whole place for you," he complained - and he always complained, the thought inching its way to the front of Brandon's mind. Danny was a special case, his cattiness and passive-aggression usually more than most people could stand. Brandon had particularly calm and effective methods of dealing with one of Danny's moods, which usually changed faster than the traffic lights, but today was not the day Brandon planned to focus on alleviating Danny's attitude problems. 

"Danny," he started, exasperated, his voice coming out choked; he hadn't spoken since he left Ace's hospital room, and he was surprised he even had a voice with which to speak. 

"No, seriously. Seriously? This is important," Danny's eyes widened with excitement, ready to start up his brisk walking pace once more; after all, he had been on a mission, and unlike most of the tasks set in his teenage life, this was one he wasn't planning to shirk. "See, there's this plan. Blake's total example of an authority fetish is chattin' up the night nurse right now, and I thought this would be the perfect time to sneak you in so you can see Ace!" 

Brandon's face fell, his gaze returning to the floor, once again ashamed to tell anyone that he had left his lover's side. Even with Danny, who had always shown an exaggerated and rather noisy distaste for their relationship and how seemingly perfect their affection was for each other, Brandon felt like he had let the world down, let himself and Ace down, and worried that he may never see him again. 

Danny didn't seem to notice, his eyes rolled to the ceiling and his mouth moving a mile a minute: the quintessential self-absorbed New Yorker. "I just can't believe they're doing this to you two," he groaned, eyes rolling at the injustice like the hospital had merely stopped two teenagers from sneaking into an R-rated movie. "You are like, the most couple-y old married couple ever, and they're being total assholes about it because one of you doesn't have a vagina." Brandon cringed at Danny's callousness, and for the fact that he was right. "It's sick. I tell you, leave me in a room with that nurse and we'll _see_ who's the biggest fucking diva here -" 

"I saw him." Brandon had to blurt it out, just say something so maybe Danny would stop talking for a few moments. He definitely had a soft spot for the teenager - when Danny had come into the Chelsea House searching for Brandon's mentoring program, Brandon had taken his case on himself, with help and companionship from David and Blake, because he knew no one else would be able to stand him - but his patience for Danny's attitude was wearing thin. He didn't need this, _not_ today, not when his whole world was hanging by a thread. "I found him, I went in to see him. He looks..." Brandon closed his eyes, unable to escape the vivid memory of Ace's broken, wounded body in that hospital bed, and the thought that all the love he could give him in the world couldn't help. "It's not good," he said, unable to put into words the severity of Ace's condition. 

"Wait, you already got in?" Danny asked. "Then why are you here?" He waved an arm out in the empty corridor; Brandon had to flinch at the harsh accusation. "Shouldn't you be chained to his side right now? I mean, with how much you're sickeningly in love with each other -" 

" _Danny_!" Brandon said forcefully, his hands balled into fists at his sides, frustration finally boiling up to the surface. He had been in the dark for hours, _hours_ , and he held all this emotion inside and didn't dare let go, but Danny pushed his tolerance to the limit and he just couldn't do it anymore, he _couldn't._ "I don't need this right now, least of all from you!" He could hear the buzzing of the machines in his head, smelled the antiseptic on the gauze that masked Ace's scent; he felt the hard, brittle plaster underneath his hands where there should be flesh. "I _tried_ , dammit, I tried, and I don't know what else I can do..." 

His burst of anger left as quickly as it came, deflating Brandon in one large burst like the air escaping a punctured tire. Slumping back against the wall behind him as the energy and sheer will to stand left him, Brandon held his head in his hands, never before feeling so helpless. It wasn't Danny he was angry with; it was himself, and how he could have let all this happen. A notarized note, a simple legal document could have changed the outcome of everything...or, the answer "yes." 

Stepping back in shock, Danny's eyes widened at Brandon's outburst. The older man never raised his voice to Danny, though the teenager was pretty sure he did a hell of a lot over the years to deserve it. There had been fire in Brandon's eyes, a quick, hot temper that was so very unlike him, he seemed like a different person. Danny Noriega routinely took things three steps too far without batting an eyelash, but even he realized this was a more delicate situation than most. "Oh, shit," he muttered, his mood sobering immediately, watching the energy drain out of Brandon as he leaned against the wall. "I'm being a real bitch, aren't I." 

"You know, not everything is about _you_ ," the words didn't even sound like Brandon, like all of the emotions he had kept buried in order to function that day changed him, brought him past a breaking point no man should ever have to face. "And this isn't some joke or something to comment on, this is _real life_. This is _real_ , this is Ace, and -" 

Brandon's words were cut off by a deafening sob, and it took him a moment to realize it came from his own chest. All the walls he had built up over the past few hours, all of the defenses he stored to cope with the day were crumbling, and he couldn't hold the emotions flooding forth like a breaking dam. He had avoided those words for so long, knowing he wouldn't be able to handle hearing them aloud much less by his own voice...that this was actually happening, that Ace Young had began his day with a marriage proposal and ended up in a hospital bed, and might end with consequences far worse. After the first came another, and another, his lungs thick with the sobs he had held back all day, pushing past his chest to finally escape. With hot, unfettered tears streaming down his cheeks, Brandon held one hand to his brow, the other above his heart, the rush of feelings hurting physically as well as emotionally. 

Suddenly Brandon felt a presence of black and purple before him, arms encircling his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace: Danny. Too physically and emotionally exhausted to do anything but cry, Brandon let himself be hugged but found no comfort in the teenager's gesture. His cries came from deep within, down from the pit of his stomach where his fears took residence, the pressure only building as his tears fell. Brandon sobbed into Danny's shoulder, chest heaving with emotion and letting everything break down as Danny began to speak. 

"I am so sorry," he said, his tone somber and more sincere than Brandon had ever heard it before. "I didn't mean...I know this has got to be so hard for you, I didn't mean to make it worse." It seemed he had crossed the line - a line he had stomped upon many times before but never to hurt someone close to him, never against Brandon - and now the older man looked near inconsolable, with someone who definitely wasn't high on the comforting list. If Danny only had Blake near, or David; they would know what to do, they had known Brandon longer. In the time that Danny had met the older man - when he was seventeen and confused, and bitterly, blindly angry - to this day, he had never seen Brandon look so despondent, so broken. 

"I can't lose him," cried Brandon, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his grip clenching in the fabric of Danny's shirt, desperate to hold onto anything. "I can't..." 

Leaning him against the wall to prevent him from possibly collapsing from his exhausted body and mind, Danny held Brandon tightly through the worst of his cries, like his mother used to in their small apartment on Orchard Street when he had been terrorized at school, before she knew exactly what they were bullying him for. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours until the shoulder of Danny's shirt was nearly soaked through, and Brandon's sobs quieted down to exhausted whimpers that echoed through the empty hall louder than his cries. Danny had to speak in low tones, near whispers, or else he felt he would shatter that silence - Blake and David would never believe his voice existed at such a low volume. 

"You won't," Danny said confidently, with both the wisdom of a timeless sage and the naiveté of a child Brandon thought Danny grew out of around the same time as his diapers. "You can't lose him, ever. He's in your heart, and he's always going to be there. That's the one thing you can count on." 

His words proved little comfort to Brandon but he was silently awed that the teenager was even trying; compassion was not Danny's strength and Brandon commonly had to remind the teenager the situations where his bluntness would not be appreciated. Almost anticipating his thoughts, Danny chuckled low, his eyes rolling. "I know I'm not the best at this," he said, though Brandon had a feeling in his heart that Danny had believed every word he had said to him. "But I mean it. I say a lot of shitty things but it doesn't mean I don't know what you mean to each other." The caring words, the glances between each other...Danny was admittedly self-centered as a defense mechanism but he wasn't blind and he was far from stupid. "You're actually the most functional couple I know." 

Brandon waited for the snide yet playful comment that Danny needed to find better friends, but it never came; this was a side to Danny the teenager wanted to show existed, the serious, sensitive part of him he very rarely let peek through, even to the older men who started out as volunteers but developed into his close friends. He was well aware how much the mentoring program had shaped his life and changed his view of himself and the world, and Brandon was a big part of that, going the distance with him when so many others in his life gave up. Giving back to Brandon in his time of dire need was the least he could do. 

Patting the older man on the back, Danny pulled away from the hug as he heard the sobs subside and felt the flow of tears dry up against his shoulder. He looked Brandon in the eyes: red and puffy from crying, pained and still watery with tears, the turmoil in those eyes far from over for the day. Brandon looked like he had aged a decade in one evening, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy, filled with worry, creases and wrinkles in his brow where there were none the day before. It was a complete turnaround from the easygoing Brandon that took a chance on Danny and never let the teenager's sarcastic comments break past his smile. It was Ace that kept him together for so long, they had become the light in each other's lives that they both knew would never flicker out or fade. What Danny saw in Brandon's eyes was love and fear, emotions so vivid and true and devastatingly on the brink he didn't know how he could be coping. 

"Do you want to go back to the waiting room?" Danny asked as Brandon regained his composure, forcing his breathing to slow by sheer will. There was no sarcasm to his voice, no biting remarks or any other defenses the teenager routinely put up against the world. Had he been in a different state of mind, Brandon would have wished he had a camera to record the feat; David and Blake would never even believe him. 

Brandon nodded, and opened his mouth to respond in assent, but the words that came tumbling out were not what he expected. His defenses down and his emotions raw, Brandon admitted to the person he least considered a confidante with a shaky voice, "He...he asked me to marry him." 

That certainly stopped Danny in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock not at Brandon's words but the fact that he was telling this secret to _him_. "Shut, up," he said dramatically, taking in a deep breath and holding his hand to his chest. He would have had to be blind not to have seen the news headlines or heard the buzz settling over the coffeehouses and cafes of the Lower East Side this morning, the one court decision thousands of miles away, across an entire continent, that changed everything, even in the tiny space of the world Danny Noriega occupied. "When did he ask?" 

"This morning." Brandon wasn't going to bring up the fact that this was the second time Ace sent the proposal his way, not when he hadn't breathed a word of the first to any of his friends, never feeling the need to inevitably defend himself and his answer. Besides, proposing to marry someone off the cuff over beers and a basketball game wasn't what Brandon had considered a serious endeavor. He simply didn't think he was being that serious about it, or that it meant so much to Ace, until that morning when he asked again and Brandon saw that sparkle of hope in Ace's eyes that he might actually say yes. 

Danny could only stand patiently for long, waiting for Brandon to elaborate on the proposal, kneading his hands in anticipation of the juicy details. He had never been terribly attentive when Brandon talked about his boyfriend before, considering the pair to be boringly monogamous and less interesting than his soap operas, but he had always had a weakness for gossip and this was just too good to pass up. Blake was going to shit pink unicorns when he discovered Danny found out about the engagement before him. "So??" he asked, waving his hands around excitedly, deeply parted hair falling into his face but he didn't care. "When's the date going to be? Are you going all the way to Cali? Oh man, I've never been to Hollywood, I bet the guys there are too much to fuckin' handle..." 

He was about to go off on one of his monologues again, the endless stream of words that never seemed to even require breath much less a content filter, and if he went off on this subject - blathering on about endless beaches and golden-tanned surfers, and how San Francisco must be a wonderful place for a summer wedding - Brandon didn't know if he could take it. "I didn't -" he interrupted quickly, spitting the words out because they tasted bitter on his tongue, like unsweetened coffee or moments he could not take back. "I didn't say yes." 

The teenager's words stopped short, his face dropping to a look of saddened surprise, watching the misery of that decision dawn over Brandon's features. It was something none of their friends would have predicted: Danny knew Ace and Brandon to be so in love - so much to the point Danny had to at times look away or lose his lunch - and he would have never thought that Brandon would turn down a marriage proposal. They were already Ward and June Cleaver with five o'clock shadows; the only logical next step was to make that relationship official. 

But even Danny realized this wasn't the time to point out the obvious. Brandon had his head down again, looking down and away from Danny, trying to hide as best he could the fact that he was crying. He stayed silent but didn't resist against the arms enfolding him again, the damp shoulder soaking anew. Ace's smile had been disheartened but understanding that morning, knowing that mere time and a cup of coffee weren't going to change Brandon's answer to his proposal or his perspective on marriage in general. But in that small, significant moment between Ace's kiss goodbye to him and bounding out the door for his fated run, Brandon saw the glimmer in Ace's eye, his face, of deep regret; of doubt. He had never seen that look in Ace's eyes before, not when it came to their love, and it hit Brandon like a swift knee in the gut that it might have been the last thing Ace had thought of him before the city bus collided with his frame. 

"Oh, God," he choked out, heel of his palm pressed against his forehead, his body and his conscience aching. "Why didn't I say yes?" 

It was a question that begged not to be answered, whose answer could only truly be found inside Brandon Rogers's heart. If he had made that one decision, if he had one change of heart when he saw that look in Ace'e eyes before he left...perhaps the whole day would have been different. 

Danny Noriega never really grasped the understanding of rhetorical questions. 

"Do you love him?" 

The question was abrupt and blunt; classic Danny. Brandon's tears had subsided but his heart still hung heavily in his chest, the outburst doing nothing to calm the hurt that only had one resolution. It caught him off-guard, his haggard breath hitched in his throat from the crying and the content of Danny's question. There was no one way to answer him, no words yet invented to truly describe how he loved Ace, or how much his heart yearned to be with him again. Like a subway car menacingly careening through tunnels, threatening to teeter off its track, Brandon's mind kept going back to the images of Ace in that hospital room, frail and broken and not like the Ace he had known for so many years. But Danny's question brought his mind to one track, to the joyful and loving memories he and Ace shared, from the moment they met to the kiss they shared that morning that felt as beautiful and intense as their first. All the images, all the emotions assailed him at once until Brandon felt he had to answer the question in order to breathe again. 

"More than..." He felt his whole body tremble when he said the words, his voice weary but the meaning behind them truer than gold. "More than anything." 

"And he knows this?" Brandon was hesitant to answer this particular question but he nodded into Danny's shoulder, knowing deep in his heart that Ace knew that he meant the world to Brandon. He forced his mind to think back to the moments when touching Ace's skin felt like a blessing, when he would trudge through a terrible day with ease because he knew Ace's smile was waiting for him when he got home. Brandon wanted to think of those memories, almost seven years full of warmth and love, instead of what he had seen in the hospital room. 

Danny was nonplussed, almost unaffected by Brandon's answers; although Brandon was in no emotional condition to analyze, Danny's line of questioning had an obvious purpose. "And you know that he loves you, right?" 

He thought of the way the younger man's entire face lit up with a smile when he was with Brandon, unable to hide his joy. He thought of the first time Ace said his name, an inaudible whisper against the summer breezes of Central Park, cherishing the name with his lips. How, despite his best efforts to hide it, Brandon still saw the flash of disappointment in Ace's eyes when he had said no that morning, a pain on his face that spoke volumes more than the indifferent shrug he gave as his reaction. He remembered how tightly Ace held him in his arms when he promised never to throw him away, and how Brandon's name was on his lips every time he brought him to climax. He remembered everything. 

"Yes," he whispered, trying not to let the tears flow again. 

Brandon had been so strong for so long: not even just for that day, but for years, steeling himself against outside forces and the own emotions assailed at his heart from the time he was eighteen. Letting all of that go that night was like opening up the floodgates, releasing his resistances and reminding him how vulnerable he was, how Ace was; how they all were. 

"How long have you been together now?" Danny was but a boy when Brandon and Ace first met, the walls of the Chelsea House and the friends he'd meet there all years away; he knew that their relationship had to be solid, lasting, if it spanned years where Danny could hardly remember the dates, much less names and faces. 

The typical answer would have been seven years; it was so close to their anniversary, that seven-year itch Marilyn Monroe had warned them about, that most couples would have just rounded up for the sake of saving time, or because the actual dates were fuzzy to them. But Brandon knew, almost to the hour, and he closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of the summer sunset on his face as Ace turned to him in that theater and smiled. "Six years," he sighed, feeling the wetness of a tear escape his eye. His last words were whispers, not knowing or caring if Danny truly heard them; they were only meant for him. "Ten months. And twenty-three days." 

After a moment of silent contemplation, Danny concluded as he led Brandon back to the waiting room, "You have your own reasons for why you didn't say yes." He wasn't going to pry, even Danny knew there were topics that simply couldn't be discussed without the presence of a well-paid therapist. "And, probably, Ace already knows them. But you love him, and he loves you; that's really all that should matter, right?" 

The older man thought about the clandestine mission to sneak in and see Ace, even just for a moment; he thought of the head nurse's stern face when she told him his love wasn't good enough. Brandon knew in his heart that was all that should matter, but in the world outside of those two, the walls and expanses outside of their apartment that stretched to St. Vincent's, the West Side Highway and beyond, there needed to be more. He realized there was no way to take any of it back, no way to undo what had already been changed in their lives, but he prayed he be given the chance to make it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve said in previous chapters that Brandon, who grew up as an impressionable young kid in 1980s New York City, would be a big Knicks fan and would stay loyal to the franchise despite its recent shortcomings in the basketball world. Being a Knicks fan and getting tickets to a game, however, are two entirely different things, and while I bet Brandon had splurged once or twice on nosebleed seats in Madison Square Garden, he would not have gotten season tickets and surely not so close as to spit on Jack Nicholson, who is one of the most notable courtside fans of the Knicks, apart from Spike Lee.
> 
> Chris Daughtry lives with his family here in Jersey City, New Jersey, which is right across the Hudson River from Manhattan and a popular place for commuters into the city to live. Although Daughtry’s favorite team, the New Jersey Devils, are an NHL team while the Knicks are NBA, it’s customary for a New Jersey native to be a Devils fan, and _no one_ ’s actually a Nets fan. :P


	13. Chapter 13

          _August 2007_

 

Brandon hated being out of New York. 

The glaring red numbers on the hotel's alarm clock set the time at just before midnight, burning into the dark and playing tricks on Brandon's mind. He should have been sleeping, or at the very least tired - his brain and the heaviness in his limbs told him his eyes were being deceived and it was indeed far later than the clock dared to tell him - but he just couldn't put head to pillow, not when he kept thinking about the city and the people he just left behind. 

Moonlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling window of the room, a bright, cooling light battling against the red hues of the alarm clock dancing off the tacky hotel wallpaper, and Brandon marveled at the power of the moon's rays. In his apartment in New York, even high above the streets on the fifth floor, the moon always paled and withered away in comparison to the constant orange glow of the sodium streetlights on every corner. Brandon grew up with those lights, knew to associate that eerie, darkroom glow with the night, and it wasn't until a college road trip did he realize there were places in this country without the constant monitor of streetlights, roads that saw a kind of darkness that simply didn't exist in Manhattan. In those places, and in this place, it felt like an entirely different world, even if this was considered to be the heart of St. Louis. 

St. Louis was not New York City. 

And sure, Brandon had been out of New York on many occasions - griping about the trials and tribulations of Manhattan was an activity every local engaged in, but truer joy had never been found than visiting a town and complaining of its inadequacies compared to New York. He had visited the latticed streets of Boston, stitched together near the ports like intricate lace; walked the broad avenues and the mall in Washington, everything organized like a Roman triumphal town. But those had all been a long time ago; a long time ago, Brandon thought - it felt like a whole lifetime separated them instead of a few years. This was the first time he had left New York, and in turn, left Ace Young behind. 

It was only supposed to be one weekend - a straight-up convention on the future of satellite broadcasting, no team-building exercises or trust fall scheduled - but it was just the first night and already Brandon's heart ached for more than the dull orange streetlights and the sounds of TriBeCa traffic on the street below. He could scarcely remember a night since they had moved in together that he didn't feel the warmth of Ace's body next to his, finding pleasure not in the sensuality of the younger man's tanned skin or toned muscles but purely in his presence, knowing that however dark a Manhattan night might become, Ace would always be there. He didn't know if it was even possible for him to fall asleep without the reliable, living metronome of Ace's beating heart next to his. 

Brandon both longed for and dreaded the next day: at the very least the drone of conference speeches and the smell of stale, cooled St. Louis air would take his mind away from his separation from Ace, but it also meant another night without him, just as sleepless as this night, peering out the window and wondering how bright the moon shone over the Hudson River hundreds of miles away. He only wished Ace could have taken him up on the offer to come with him, but he wasn't the only one with career obligations that were suddenly keeping them apart. Ace's firm landed a particularly difficult case where the details were left in the sticky fine print of a third-rate contract, and it was up to the thankless junior partners to separate the wheat from the chaff. On more than one occasion that night Brandon weighed the pros and cons of skipping the conference altogether and taking a flight out of his own pocket back to New York. 

An insistent knock at the door broke Brandon out of his thoughts. He had ordered room service in an attempt to take his mind off of his loneliness for New York and Ace, but he hadn't expected it to arrive so quickly. He doubted a plate of predictably mediocre chicken scampi was going to get him to forget his troubles, but it was better than moping around an empty, moonlit hotel room. Besides, it was on the radio station's expense account; he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't take advantage. 

Quickly counting out an ample tip from his wallet, Brandon walked over to the door and opened it, too preoccupied with the bills in his hand to notice the familiar frame standing before him and the definite absence of chicken scampi. "Put the meal on the room bill," he said, eyes to his wallet. "This is for you -" 

"Really? Usually, you don't tip." 

The voice, as familiar to Brandon as breathing, was what made the older man's head shoot up, eyes wide with sudden excitement and life. There, leaning against the doorframe casually as if it were the doorway to their own apartment and not to a foreign hotel room was Ace, smile wide and toothy and as inviting to Brandon as the Manhattan skyline. The brown suit he had been wearing all day at work was wrinkled and disheveled and there were the beginnings of deep circles underneath his eyes; it was indeed late and there was no telling how much work Ace had been through to get himself from Manhattan to St. Louis. But all Brandon could think about was that he was _here_. 

Brandon's face broke out into a grin as the realization dawned on him, and he laughed with joy in spite of himself. "I can't believe -" he began, but two strong arms cut him off, wrapping around his shoulders and enfolding him into a much-missed embrace. It had only been a few hours since they had separated but the prospect of staying apart for the entire weekend, sleeping in a cold, foreign bed and waking up without the love of his life by his side...it shook Brandon more than he liked to admit. "Oh, Ace," he resolved himself to a relieved sigh, melting into Ace's touch, not caring a bit if the embrace further wrinkled the suit of his lover. 

"I missed you," Ace said into the crook of Brandon's neck, voice filled with emotion. His breath tickled at Brandon's ear and breezed past the hairs on the back of his neck; God, he loved that feeling. "So," the younger man's tone turned decidedly sly, "Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to properly say hello in the hallway?" 

Figuring Ace's plan to properly greet him was something the inhabitants of the St. Louis Ramada's fifth floor should not see, Brandon led them both back into the hotel room, the click of the door's automatic lock kindly letting the couple know they were blissfully alone. The moment they were inside Brandon felt a hand run through his coarse hair; an anchor, he knew well enough, as the hand tipped his head back to receive Ace's kiss. 

"How did you get here?" he asked, their figures lit only by the moonlight as Ace held him close, refusing the request from his tired limbs to sit down and rest. 

Ace snickered, kissing along the older man's jawline. "There are these things called airplanes," he joked. "Amazing inventions..." 

Brandon chuckled, more from this sudden and completely surprising assault of affection from his boyfriend than his question evasion. "Dick," he said, poking Ace in between rib bones with an index finger; Ace simply replied with an excited hum and a "Yes, please" mumbled into Brandon's collarbone. "I thought you had a big case and couldn't get away from work." 

"I got Luke to cover for me." Considering the urgency with which the firm seemed to acknowledge this particular case, Brandon mused that Ace might have to lend Luke Menard a kidney in the future if he asked for it. "I couldn't imagine being away from you all weekend. The apartment would have felt so empty." 

He had the same sentiment, that all of St. Louis would have felt dull and lifeless, like an old fading photograph, and that he needed the vibrancy of his New York neighborhoods again, and Ace. He shivered with pleasure as Ace pressed his lips against the sensitive spot behind his ear and wasted no time in whispering seductively, "Lay on the bed. I want to watch you undress, baby." 

Brandon would have laughed and told Ace he sounded like he studied some bad porno scripts on the flight, but suddenly all the blood had drained from his brain and gone elsewhere, leaving him with the capacity only to moan and reach out instinctively when Ace pulled away, giving the older man a playful push towards the bed. He walked backwards, not wanting to take his eyes off of Ace for one second lest this all be some sort of convention hall daydream, until his calves hit the unfamiliar bedspread, his face widening to a grin as he lowered himself to the mattress. "It's not anything you haven't seen before," Brandon reminded him, his mind recalling both the hidden and deliberate times, countless now, that he had undressed in front of Ace, watching the lust and fascination wash over his face every time like it was the first. 

Shaking his head, Ace countered him as he slid his suit jacket from his shoulders, taking care even in its wrinkled state to hang it up along the room's closet rod. "I've never seen you in St. Louis before." Brandon, understandably, couldn't argue with this logic, so off went his shirt, unceremoniously dropped to the floor in harmonious contrast with Ace's jacket. The younger man stopped; entranced by the exposed flesh of his lover, bathed in a kind of moonlight they never witnessed in New York. It danced against Brandon's features, his toned chest, the stomach he complained wasn't close to the condition it had been in his prime but Ace neither noticed nor cared. As far as he was concerned, his lover, like a fine wine, only got better with age, more refined, matured. And Ace could drink in either all night long. 

And in Brandon's mind the night felt different, the cool tones of moonlight contrasting the orange glare of New York's sleepless streets and the firm, unfamiliar give of the mattress underneath his frame as he reclined, propping himself up on elbows and watching Ace meticulously unbutton his shirt. But it was the small gestures that made it feel calmingly similar to their daily routine, one deeply rooted in love and understanding and branched out into familiarity: Ace's warm, toothy smile with a hint of mischief lingering in his dimples, the shirt politely joining the suit jacket within the closet, nestled together for neatness’ sake. The way Ace's hand caressed his cheek as the younger man's body slid alongside his, sparks of desire exploding between them, then that hand and his kisses moving lower still. 

"Bet you're really thanking Luke for that favor, huh," Brandon's breath came in heavy pants as he felt his lover's fingertips graze down his flanks, a trail of kisses following them to his hips. 

He felt a low chuckle, hot breath against his flesh, the cock in his jeans throbbing from the anticipation, knowing Ace's inviting mouth was only inches away. "Baby," Ace's voice reverberated down his spine in time with the movement of his descending zipper, with his pants dropping to the carpet. "Luke...is the last thing on my mind right now." Brandon wholeheartedly believed him when he felt the wet heat of Ace's mouth overtop him, kissing tantalizingly at first, teasing with a tongue that knew exactly how to make Brandon squirm. 

Brandon arched his back with a moan from deep in his throat, trying to get closer to that familiar heat, but Ace held his hips firmly against the mattress, the body in between Brandon's legs completely in control. The younger man gave Brandon a devilish look - _not before I say so, love_ \- and flicked his tongue out against the shaft, fishing for the sounds out of Brandon's mouth he loved to hear. 

"I want you." Just the sound of Ace's voice like that, so needy, so insistent, caused Brandon to shudder with pleasure, his hand tangled in the bedspread, gripping. Even though his instincts told him to roll his head back, arch into the heat dancing around his cock, he had his chin tucked against his chest, watching every movement Ace made while his neck screamed in discomfort. The younger man bathed in moonlight, down on his knees, licking and sucking and toying with Brandon until neither man could take it any longer...how could Brandon give up a sight like that? 

Glancing down he saw Ace's own pants down to his hips, his hard cock such a familiar sight to Brandon, the younger man stroking himself with deep, torturously slow thrusts. His breath came low and damp against Brandon's skin, panting as he grazed his other hand along the bedsheets, finding its mark in Brandon's gripping fingers, entwining them with his own. "I want all of you." 

"I'm yours for the taking," Brandon had to smile at just how well Ace could play him, knew the steps that never felt routine; his words devolved into a shameless moan as Ace took him whole expertly, knowing deliciously he had Brandon ensnared. This time his head did tip back, no longer able to hold the passion within his body at bay. "Yours..." he repeated breathlessly, rolling his hips against Ace's frame and feeling his head bob above him, their entwined fingers grounding them both. "...Always." 

He had thought his loneliness and boredom in St. Louis was over missing his home, the island of concrete and history, of hopes and loves and dreams. But lying there in that hotel room in a city whose stories still remained silent to him, Brandon knew, as he made love to the man he wanted with him for the rest of their lives, that anywhere Ace Young was, it was home.

*** 

          _May 2008_

Lakisha Jones wished she could switch to the day shift. She had too many years on this job working with the sick, injured, and ungrateful; too many years of not tucking her daughter into bed every evening and singing her the calming lullaby she created while still on maternity leave. She had known when she chose her concentration in nursing school that the realm of an emergency care nurse was not merely taking patients' blood pressure and handing out lollipops, but she had been up for the challenge, always striving to do her best and never letting the nay-sayers tell her otherwise. But she hadn't expected a night position at one of the busiest critical care centers in Manhattan and she hadn't expected to tackle more paperwork than patients. If she never saw the word "triplicate" again, she could die happy. 

Besides, nighttime was when all the crazies came out, and six years on the job already kept her privy to the fact that New York had an abundance of them. She couldn't count the number of drunks brought in from the street raving about the government or the poor souls that fell through the gaping cracks of the country's programs for the mentally ill, like the strange man who stumbled in a few months prior in pink lamé who couldn't decide on his admission chart if his name was Norman or Nicholas. The night had its fill of gang attacks, of rape victims barely clinging onto life, of domestic disputes who refused social services and left unsettled to cycle over again. Nurse Jones came to this profession to help save lives, to make the world a healthier and better place, but she’d since discovered the world needed more than she could give it to be a better place. 

It was definitely a feat when one of her tougher cases of the night was an MTA bus versus a pedestrian, and the pedestrian lost. The logistics of the case were nothing spectacular, nothing she hadn't seen before from the mix of tiny streets, frustrated drivers and reckless walkers that made up Manhattan; despite the man's injuries, it was always a good sign that he hadn't arrived with his internal organs mimicking a meat pie, and he'd probably survive the night. No, the issue with this case wasn't the patient but all those loved ones hovering around the nurses' station, waiting for answers about this man that may never come. Lakisha didn't like keeping information from those who obviously cared about a patient - especially that one man, whose determination mixed with tragic fragility told her more than his words did that he cared about this patient more than his own life. But rules were rules, and hospital policy and patient confidentiality were liabilities she wasn't about to break. She could complain about her job and the grueling hours as much as she'd like, but it didn't mean she was willing to lose it over one patient and his boyfriend. 

Sighing as she lingered inside the patient's quiet recovery room, Lakisha allowed the silence and peacefulness to sink in through her skin, down to her tired muscles and the bones that felt like they had been working at this job since she had been born. She needed some time away from the front desk, the endless queue of the sick, the injured and the entitled, and the desperate, pleading eyes of this patient's boyfriend, silently begging for answers. No one but an emergency room nurse could fully appreciate the peacefulness of a still hospital room, a refuge away from the chaos that filled every other crevice of the world. Here was the physical manifestation of a pregnant pause; a warm intake of breath, almost as if the room itself was waiting for something to happen. 

"You know, sugar," she said to the motionless man lying on the hospital bed as she recorded his vitals. "You don't know how good you got it here among the living. There's a man out there who'd take on this whole hospital just to see your face." She thought back on the men who had come and gone in her life, the sweet-talker who now never called or the strong, solid charmer who wasn't nearly enough of a man to raise a little girl. Didn't everyone just want someone they could trust, that would love them? That would wait for an eternity, if they had to, just to see their love again? 

She glanced down at the chart; his vitals were certainly improving from before, the poor thing. She wished she could tell that man out in the waiting room, wished she could tell any of them to reduce their fears. "If I were you," she said, her eyes on the chart, soaking in the extra few moments in white noise silence before she had to return to the hectic waiting room, "I'd stop spending so much damn time in that hospital bed, making that man a nervous wreck." 

Nurse Jones was one step away from the door, two steps away from leaving the peace of that hospital room and back to her nightly grind when she heard it: a groan, barely audible in most spaces but in the silence of the room it resonated like a scream inside a crowded theater. Her mind could have been playing tricks on her and she might have needed to head up to Audiology to have her hearing checked, but she knew what she heard and, turning around slowly, she hoped her instincts were right. 

Nothing in the room seemed disturbed to the casual viewer but Lakisha's observant eyes, sharp as a bird of prey and as knowledgeable as a prophet, caught the tiniest of movements from the young man laid out on the hospital bed. An involuntary twitch if his fingers, less than a millimeter in fluctuation, but that movement meant consciousness; that groan meant he was awakening. 

Immediately the nurse was at his side, monitoring his vitals as they flashed across a computer screen as well as the slow indications of waking from a deep, unintended sleep. His eyes batted open to tiny slits, a magnificent deep green behind his lids; they closed again quickly, the harsh fluorescent light from above too much all at once. His brow creased in a flinch against the stimuli his brain had previously shut out to heal itself; an excellent sign, Lakisha thought, knowing that neurological cognition wouldn't be too far behind. 

Another groan came out, this time louder, more pronounced; he was regaining awareness quickly now, wanting to move, wanting to shoo away the gauzy cobwebs of anesthetic sleep. "What..." he croaked out, his voice faint and hoarse from disuse. "Where..." 

This was when Lakisha knew to step in. "Don't try to talk, honey," she said in a firm yet soothing voice; for all her stern behavior and glaring eyes, when it came to patients her bedside manner was impeccable. "You're in the Critical Care center at Saint Vincent's. You've been in an accident." 

She hunched her squat frame over the bed's railing as much as her toes would allow, attempting to cover the young man with as much shadow as possible so when his eyes did reopen - a slow, deliberate blinking now, he was showing instant progress - the lights above him wouldn't feel so oppressive. He shook his head as much as he could; a tiny movement that felt like sudden whiplash to him, all the sudden movement and awareness flooding his senses in torrents. 

"Brandon," he breathed out, disregarding everything the nurse had just advised. It was the first thing he thought of; the only thing that mattered. "Where's Brandon..." 

A flash of recognition washed over Lakisha Jones's face, though Ace Young was still too groggy to notice. She examined his face, waiting for him to say it again. "What was that?" she asked, ignoring the procedural nurse in her head telling her to inform a doctor first of his condition and allowing the decent human being to take precedence. 

He groaned again, his heartbeat steadily climbing; it was exhausting him to say just these few words but he had to get them out, it meant everything. "My...husband," he said, his logical sense not yet up to speed with his emotions. "Please...I need...to see him..." His pulse was racing now, his quickly growing consciousness mixing with panic and frustration, and his need to see his love. 

But Nurse Jones's sternly professional expression broke out into a knowing smile; it was exactly what she, and the hospital's patient confidentiality policies, needed to hear. "Honey," she said confidently as she paged the doctors. They would be able to tend to the young man's physical condition; she needed to see to his emotional one. "You just said the magic words."


	14. Chapter 14

          _January 2008_

"Hey, honey?" the call followed Brandon into the kitchen as he tore himself away from the Knicks game on television long enough to refill his glass of beer. "D'you wanna get married?" 

It was a good thing his pilsner glass was already resting peacefully on the counter, ready to be refilled, or else there would have been a fair amount of shattered glass on the floor and since he caused it, Brandon would have insisted Ace be the one to clean it up. Even through the kitchen door the words hit the older man like a blast of blustery winter wind rocketing up Fifth Avenue, knocking him so off guard he had to grab hold of the countertop for support. 

Then he laughed. 

It wasn't what he had expected to hear from his boyfriend during a Knicks game; surely, it wasn't something he expected Ace to ask at all, but certainly not when the team was having their worst string of luck in the past decade and Brandon was finally reconsidering that unspoken vow he made as a child to stick by his home team through hell, high water, or playoffs. Brandon shook his head; Ace knew better than to make conversation during a game, knowing that anything short of tackling Brandon, stripping off his clothes and ravishing him on the living room couch could divert his attentions. He had probably just been asking for another beer as well, or a top off to the bowl of pretzels stashed on the coffee table to ruin any appetites the couple may have had for dinner. 

After leisurely filling his glass, remarking to himself that he apparently needed to get his hearing checked in his old age, Brandon walked back into the living room, an expectant Ace waiting for him with the game on pause. 

"What did you say?" he asked, setting down the pilsner. The bowl of pretzels seemed untouched, and Ace was still nursing his first glass, the knuckles gripping the glass chalk white, as if to stop his hand from shaking. 

Ace shrugged nonchalantly, as if he had asked Brandon if he wanted to take the plunge and order Mexican or Chinese takeout for the night. "We're not that far from Canada." 

This time Brandon knew his ears weren't playing tricks, he watched Ace's lips move and after six and a half years of memorizing that beloved face he knew Ace was serious just from the look in his eyes. He stood frozen before his boyfriend, a dull buzz growing in his head as his eyes began to widen. "You're..." Brandon hadn't realized his mouth went dry until he spoke. "You're joking, right?" 

There was that shrug again, and Brandon had no idea how Ace could be so flippant about this when he was coiling up with tension inside like a spring from these words, especially since he was the one who brought it up. "It's just a thought," Ace replied, his body relaxed like the Tuesday evening it was, like every Tuesday evening, but his eyes were a stormy emerald that revealed his intensity. "A friend of mine at work was saying - Luke; you know Luke, right? - he was just pointing out to me the other day, you know, the kind of legal benefits marriage provides -" 

But Brandon wasn't listening past the word "marriage," which stuck in his brain and lodged itself somewhere deep in his gut, like a dead rat in a drainage pipe, rotting. He had always hoped his boyfriend would gloss over the happy, lasting marriages of his parents and his brothers with a passing look and never reflect on his own kind of union. Brandon never had quite the positive examples of love, marriage, and family in his past; he thought Ace was more aware of that, realized Brandon never had the schoolyard fantasies of playing house with either gender. 

He had found the man he wanted to be with for the rest of his life, and for years they had lived blissfully, just the way they were. Why did Ace want to risk changing any of that? 

"I'm not marrying you," Brandon blurted out, somewhere in between Ace rambling about military widowers' rights and the price of a Megabus ticket to Niagara Falls, and it stopped the younger man's flow of words short. The television's live pause function quickly wore out its effectiveness, and Ray Allen sank an effortless foul shot into the net, sealing the Knicks' fate. 

The words shocked Ace still, a small exhalation of air the only indicator that he was still breathing. "I...didn't mean _today_ ," he clarified, finishing it off with a clipped laugh that hadn't fooled Brandon since 2002. "I don't even have a ring." He paused, pretending to be deep in thought; truth was, he had thought about this more than he would ever admit. "Though there is that upcoming 3-day weekend for Martin Luther King Day..." 

"Ace." When the younger man looked into Brandon's eyes he knew there was no joking about it, and his words died down, suddenly more lost in those deep brown eyes than he had ever been. He saw sadness, empathy there, but beyond that was something he never experienced when looking into Brandon's eyes before: fear. "I'm not marrying you," he repeated, softer this time, more tender than the surprising outburst before. 

Taking Ace's hands in his, Brandon took his seat on the couch, oblivious now to the woeful machinations of the basketball game. "I love you," he said first and foremost, because Ace needed to remember that no matter what else he had to say about the proposal; because Brandon never stopped feeling that way for nearly seven years, not even when Ace let slip that he never cared much for Michael Jackson's music. Like an instant reaction, a gut instinct inherent in Ace's DNA, he replied back with his own words murmured, not needed to be heard by Brandon's ears to know the sentiment rang true. "And what we've got is great...better than great. So great, I..." Brandon shook his head, rattling the stuck words, forcing them to reveal his feelings. "I never thought I could find something as wonderful as this." 

Without pulling his gaze away from the older man's eyes, Ace raised their joined hands to his mouth, placing small yet deliberate kisses against each of Brandon's knuckles, hesitating only an instant on the fourth finger. "And that's why," Brandon continued with a sigh, "I don't want to risk any of it by changing anything between us. I don't want to change us." 

"We won't change," Ace insisted. "I promise -" But he cut himself short; it was a silent vow between the two men that they would never make a promise to one another they couldn't keep. Ace could say with all certainty that he would love Brandon Rogers to his dying breath...but he couldn't promise that nothing would change between them; fortune teller, he was not. He looked down, breaking their stare, ears turning a shameful pink for almost making a promise he had no control to keep. 

But as soon as his stare dropped Brandon picked it back up again, tilting Ace's head by the chin, cradling it between his forefinger and thumb. He wanted him to look him in the eye for this, to know what he said was sincere. "I already know I want to be with you for the rest of my life," he said, hint of a smile on both their faces because they knew it to be true. "I wake up next to you every morning and think, I've got to be the luckiest guy in the world." That thumb was brushing against the stubble of Ace's cheek now, softly caressing the skin, massaging the words in to soothe easily. "A piece of paper isn't going to tell me anything I don't already feel in my heart...that you're mine..." he inched his face closer, feeling the shudder of pleasure course through Ace's body over the words. "...and I'm yours." 

He kissed him, Ace's lips tasting like Newcastle Ale and promises and salt; he tasted like love. When he retreated and Brandon brought back the satisfying knowledge that Ace's cheeks were now flushed with sudden desire, he wondered to himself how he could have ever lived for so many years without experiencing this very feeling. From the loss of his favorite dive burger joint to the abandonment of his family, change had never agreed with Brandon and he chose to avoid it whenever he could, and gripe about it when he couldn't. But he was happier here, now, with Ace, than he had ever been in his life, and he wouldn't want to change that for the world. 

"Looks like you lost," Ace broke the silence with a change in topic, glancing over to the television to see Brandon's beloved team walk defeatedly away towards the locker rooms. 

Brandon shrugged; he had gotten too familiar over the years with the sight for it to sting any more. "There's always next season." 

Ace eased back onto the cushions of the couch, slinging one arm over Brandon's shoulders, not yet ready to lose the physical contact. "I just mean, legally, you know," Ace only rambled when he was trying to save face; it was as adorable now to Brandon as it had been on their first date. "It would probably be helpful. I'm really not looking to get _married_ , married." 

As the younger man took a swig of his now lukewarm beer, Brandon watched with a silent smile, the notion in the back of his mind that Ace had wanted him to say yes more than he let on.

***

          _May 2008_

He thought it might be like the first time he saw him, that undeniable, irresistible attraction to a man he only glimpsed from the theater rows above; then those eyes, that smile, that kick in Brandon's gut when he told him he was no longer alone. It could have been like their first kiss, a heated goodbye that turned into more, Brandon's mouth still scorched by the memory emblazoned on his heart. Or, the first time they professed a love they both knew was coming weeks ahead, holding each other while New York crumbled to the ground; Brandon knew he'd be saying those words a lot more than that one Tuesday.

But when he stepped into the hospital room and saw the heavy-lidded green eyes upon him, he knew it didn't feel like any of those other time; it wasn't like anything Brandon or Ace had experienced before.

This...felt like he was coming home. 

"Hey," Ace could hardly be heard over the hum of machines and his voice was barely above a hoarse whisper from disuse; Brandon heard it anyway, saw his lips move and curve with great effort into a weak smile at the sight of his lover. Although he was awake and there was more color in his cheeks than before, he still looked worse for the wear, his face scarred and bandaged, eyes giving away the exhaustion in his body just to raise his head. But it was all worth it to get that first glimpse of Brandon as he walked through the door, Ace knowing in his heart that as long as he was by his side, everything would be alright. 

Brandon couldn't tell if he wanted to grin or burst into tears; the overwhelming joy of hearing Ace's voice again, the relief, when he feared he was so close to never hearing that voice again...it was overwhelming. He chose to grin, though his eyes grew wet, the overflow of emotion commandeering his body, making him want to cry and shout and laugh all at once. "Hey," he replied, his voice a wracked mess from holding in his emotions for so long and then letting them all out, like a floodgate. Ace would want to make fun of that later, how Brandon wanted to say something witty or meaningful but nothing came of it, and if he did Brandon would simply shrug, blush a bit and take Ace's hand in his, glad that his love could still be there to joke. 

"He's in stable condition for now," said Nurse Jones, her voice rising above the white noise of the room and the hushed sounds of the couple's words. By strict hospital policy the man shouldn't even have been in there, not before the patient stabilized for a longer period of time, but the Lord knew those two had been through enough that day as it was, and the moment Ace Young had asked for Brandon, Lakisha knew what she had to do. "But he's still very weak. You can't stay for long." 

The grin now permanently spread across his face and his eyes still threatening tears of joy, Brandon barely heard the nurse's words or even acknowledged her presence in the room; all that mattered to him was Ace, _his_ Ace, and reuniting with him after the worst day of their lives. Once one foot crossed the threshold of the hospital room the other followed swiftly, fast but deliberate steps to Ace's bedside like before, but under very different circumstances. Immediately he took Ace's hand in his, the brush of skin against warm, responsive skin, Ace's fingers curling into Brandon's palm the way they terrifyingly had not before.

"How are you feeling?" asked Brandon, never taking his eyes off of Ace's, afraid that if he looked away this would all be some cruel joke or a fulfilling yet empty dream. 

Ace's brow creased for a moment, as if he were in deep concentration; then he answered slowly, carefully pondering each syllable. "Fluffy." 

"He's on painkillers right now," the nursed piped up, anticipating Brandon's confused expression. "So that's about as coherent as you're gonna get him." But she noticed no chuckle or laugh from the visitor, no movement at all except for the sweep of a thumb over her patient's knuckles, carefully avoiding the IV line in his hand, moving delicate as silk. It didn't matter to him if Ace Young were cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs; Brandon only cared that he could touch this hand, look into these eyes, and truly see Ace when he couldn't for so long. Lakisha Jones knew well when three was a crowd. "I'll give you a few minutes," she promised, knowing she had to return soon to monitor the patient's vitals but wishing she could give them even more time. She wasn't surprised in the least that Brandon made no move to bid her goodbye as she left the hospital room and closed the door behind her. 

Brandon could barely breathe over his own happiness; if he took any more than a faint breath he felt he could burst into tears of joy at any minute. Ace looked worn out from staying awake and lucid for so long, holding out on the hazy wave from the painkillers to stay with Brandon, to take him in. "What happened?" he asked in a raspy voice, attempting to grip the fingers in his hand but only succeeding in a slight squeeze. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Brandon responded warily; he hadn't said the words aloud before, not yet, not to anyone. He didn't even know if he could get them out himself. They weren't the true words Brandon wanted to say to Ace. "You were hit by a bus." But much to Brandon's surprise they were easy to say, rolled off the tongue like summer popsicles or flakes caught on the first snow; it had only happened a few hours ago but it was already the past to him, a horrifying, life-changing moment, but a moment they now both had the fortune to look back on. 

Ace paused another moment, breathing steadily while he focused on the mix of painful memories and relief in Brandon's glassy eyes. The fine tracings of a smile hinted along Ace's lips; if Brandon weren't watching him so intently he doubted he would have noticed. "Ouch," he deadpanned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. He mustered as much of a laugh as his body would allow while Brandon's smile shone for the both of them, his heart feeling rejuvenated after seeing that sparkle in his lover's eyes. If his body recovered as quickly as his spirit, he'd be out of that bed by next week. 

With his laughter fading into a wistful, happy smile as he watched the life spread back into Ace's eyes, Brandon thought back on the events of the day like the pages of a photo album, flipping through memories both good and bad. How he felt like a hole had been punched straight through his body when he heard the news, and was then turned away...and now, how that hole had been filled again, patched in an instant from the look on his boyfriend's face, from his smile. He hadn't practiced, he didn't know what to say at this reunion, but the words he found came fast, deliberate, and straight from his heart. 

"Marry me." 

Ace was startled for a moment, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him or if the morphine was having some strange, hallucinogenic side effects he wasn't aware of before. He opened his mouth to speak but Brandon cut him off before that; he knew he needed to explain himself first. "I know," he said, his voice choked with emotion in spite of himself. "I know what I had said before; that I didn't need a piece of paper to tell me I love you." Those three small words...he probably said them thousands of times to Ace before, each time with his whole heart behind his intent, but never before had they felt so real on his lips, so meaningful he felt he could weep from it. 

But then the memories of earlier that day struck him, when a piece of paper could have saved him hours of separation and torment; when the head nurse looked at him coldly in the face and told him those words that meant everything to him weren't good enough. "But baby, we _do_ ," his voice cracked, a tear sliding down his cheek; he shook his head, trying to ignore it, but he knew once one was shed, more were sure to follow. "I spent hours here, hours, and they wouldn't let me see you or tell me _anything..._ " He felt a sob rising in the back of his throat but he held it back, biting his lip for the sting of pain, just to get his mind off of his past troubles. It was an ordeal he would not wish on his worst enemy, but it was over now, and he was left with this man, the love of his life, hopefully beside him forever. 

"I was so scared," Brandon leaned in closer to Ace, his voice barely above a whisper. "That I'd lose you. And I wouldn't even know." 

"I'm right here," whispered Ace; Brandon didn't know if it was the painkillers talking or Ace's heart, but the sentiment was all the same. He shook his head, trying to will away the torture his boyfriend had endured that night while worrying about his fate. He would never let that happen again. "I'm not going anywhere." 

No matter from where those words came from, they went right to Brandon's heart; he hoped they would ring true for a long, long time. He meant to make sure of that. "I don't want you to ever have to go through that," Brandon raised their joined hands to his face, pressing his lips against the back of Ace's hand, reveling in the pulse beating underneath that flesh; weak, but growing stronger from Brandon's presence. "Or have to deal with my family over my care." The older man had to remember he was the lucky one: Ace's parents were kind, open and loving, embracing him into their family almost immediately. Even though the past few hours had been hell, he had the luxury of knowing that once the Youngs arrived he would have full knowledge of Ace's condition and care; he also knew if he ever fell into a serious situation, Ace would never have that luxury. He shuddered, thinking about the pain he had to endure that day and how it would have been a world harsher for his love. 

The silent pause between them was anything but awkward; Brandon held Ace's hand in both of his, curling the fingers over, feeling Ace's body react to him in the best way his state allowed, with just a tiny squeeze of his hand and a patient smile. Brandon never took his eyes off him, searching the deep green eyes before him to make sure they were real. When he finally spoke it felt like ages but each word was perfect, filled with more emotion and sincerity than he ever thought was possible. But when it came to his love for Ace, he learned a long time ago that anything was possible. 

"I love you," he said, eyes tearing up once again in spite of himself from the feel of Ace's steady gaze on him, reassuring him; being the ever-present comfort that had been missing in his life for the past few hours. "More than anything in this world. And there is nothing I want more...than to spend the rest of my life by your side." 

They were words Brandon had expressed many times before; it was a sentiment he knew they both held deep in their hearts, that throughout everything, any troubles good or bad that may come along the way, they would be together for as long as fate would allow. But he had never said it before with such meaning behind it, with the promise of something legal and binding behind the words. 

"Ace...will you marry me?" 

The younger man smiled, wishing his body would allow him to laugh at the ridiculous assumption that he would ever say no. It took all his energy to push past the pain and nod his head, grin as wide as his health allowed, only feeding off of the growing smile on Brandon's face as he received his answer. "Yes," he breathed out, though he was instructed not to exert himself too much by speaking; he felt, with all his heart, that Brandon deserved a full answer. 

A sob escaped Brandon's lips but this time it was a surprising, happy cry, a sound and a sensation he never thought would come from him in all his days. He had gone through life abhorring change, relying only on himself and what he knew, what he could feel, to guide him. But that day taught him that the tides would flow, the wind would reign, and there were changes and events no one could plan for or expect to ever see. He had been so close to losing the love of his life, to losing everything, and he planned never to be so careless with his affections again. In life, there were things to let slide and pass by, and some things to hold onto: precious thoughts and memories, a smile crossing your lover's lips; a hand curved into yours, pledging love forever. 

Brandon leaned in for a kiss, their first kiss since that morning when all had gone wrong, knowing that he'd hold onto Ace for as long as they both lived.


	15. Chapter 15

          _August 2008_

"Man, I hate Canada." 

Ace tried to disguise his grin by busying himself with stripping off his shoes and socks for the day, but from the corner of his eye he could see Brandon patting down his hair with a frown on his face. Ace knew Brandon didn't hate Canada - no one could really hate such a harmless, innocuous place like Canada, he supposed, just like no one could hate angel food cake or human interest stories on the news. But fussing over any location that was not New York City was just Brandon Rogers's way, and Ace knew in his heart he wouldn't stand for it otherwise. 

Noticing the amused expression on his lover's face as he sat on the edge of the hotel room's bed, Brandon turned to him from the mirror, hoping for confirmation of his woes. "Look at this," he pointed to his afro, which seemed particularly unruly that day and every day since they had arrived in Ontario; apparently Brandon had finally reached his tolerance level. "Do you see this? I look like I belong in the Temptations. It's all this humidity in the air, I hate it here." 

But even as he said the words his lips gave away his pleasure with the hint of a smile; he felt Ace's eyes on him and knew that in those eyes, his hair could be on fire and it wouldn't change how he felt about the man. "It looks fine," Ace said, grinning though his argument was weak. Brandon quirked his mouth over to the side and pressed both his palms down against his head in defiance. 

"Maybe I should just shave it all off." He had threatened this many times before, usually when the summer months grew hot and unbearable and Brandon was likely to also vow to shave off his skin if he could; it of course never happened, he was too receptive to Ace running his fingers through his coarse hair, that soft tug at his scalp too much of a pleasure to relinquish. 

And, just in turn, Ace gave his counter offer to his lover, an extra bargaining chip to ensure Brandon's hair stayed on his head. "If you cut your hair, I'll cut mine," he bartered, knowing Brandon adored Ace's shoulder-length curls too much to let them go. He went to raise both his arms to run his fingers through his hair - a habit that until recently he did more unconsciously than not - but winced from his position at the foot of the bed instead. The couple's light conversation made him momentarily forget about the plaster cast cocooning his left arm and shoulder, rendering it immobile and impossible to indulge his habit. The skin and muscle underneath groaned from the sudden attempt at movement, sending jolts of pain up through his arm. He tried not to make the pain noticeable to the other man in the room, but Brandon already had extensive experience with this exact situation and was at his side in a second. 

"Ace?" he whispered, a flash of fear in his eyes. Even though Ace was the one in a cast, Brandon was the one who could never forget the events that awarded it in the first place. Kneeling in front of the younger man, he touched Ace's shoulder, his cheek; gently ran his fingers down over the plaster as if it were flesh. 

Both men knew exactly the routine and the sentiment: over the past three months it had happened many times, a wince of pain when Ace momentarily forgot his body was not what it had once been, an exhausted, resentful sigh when everyday tasks like reaching the top shelf or showering became insurmountable. And each time, within seconds Brandon was beside him, comforting him, making sure no further bones nor his spirit had broken. Ace appreciated the support more than anything else he had received from Brandon, save his love: the medications and physical therapy sessions from the hospital minimized any pain he had from his injuries, and it was the frustration that was his true battle. Brandon was there for him with that and more, and each time he asked if Ace was okay, each time Ace momentarily forgot the cast on his arm or the healing scars on his body, he recalled that Brandon held a lot more of that day in his memory than he. 

"I'm fine," Ace assured him, reaching out with his good arm to cradle Brandon's cheek, sweep his thumb across his jaw. He smiled when he felt Brandon's hand against his other fingers, the ones peeking out from the cast, and he closed them around his lover's hand comfortingly. At the very least he had that: despite the discomfort, despite the frustration, he still had Brandon by his side, Brandon to touch and to hold and to _feel_ , and that was all that mattered. 

The older man's eyes still held concern; he knew Ace liked to push the boundaries of his injuries, but doing so in a foreign country - even Canada - was quite different than attempting it in your own living room. "We can stay in tomorrow," he suggested, their last day of a week in the great North. "I don't want you to overexert yourself." 

But Ace shook his head, grinning an open-mouthed smile to prove he had more energy and will than Brandon assumed. "I still have to get my mom a snowglobe," he protested; his mother's collection would be dreadfully incomplete without it. "And I gotta get a Mountie hat for Daughtry or he's gonna kill me." 

"I don't mind staying in," Brandon persisted, but the noticeably lower tone in his voice told Ace immediately it wasn't fully over concern with the younger man's well-being. He kept his gaze locked onto Ace's as his hands moved of their own accord to Ace's chest, automatically unfastening the line of buttons on his shirt as he had done every day since the accident. Ace never minded his dependence on Brandon for this one aspect of everyday life - he was never going to complain about another reason for Brandon's hands to be upon him, and when he did once ask the older man if he was uncomfortable with the situation, Brandon stayed silent for a moment, disguising what Ace thought to be a tear, and said in a quiet voice that he would do anything for him. 

Delicious, delirious thoughts ran through Ace's head over what the couple could find to do alone in a hotel room in Canada, activities definitely not noted in Ontario's tourism package. But a pang of guilt struck in his gut, causing those thoughts to short-circuit and his lighthearted face to frown. "I'm sorry we couldn't be very touristy this week," he said, forehead creasing in doubt. When Ace had jokingly admitted there wasn't a place cornier nor more fitting for their respite than Niagara Falls, the New Yorker's honeymoon destination of choice in the days of yesteryear, the couple didn't have on their minds the kind of damage a town built around a gigantic waterfall could have on a plaster cast, or the humid air's effect on healing joints and wounds. Not to mention Brandon's hair. 

But Ace and Brandon had promised each other they would make the trip as soon as Ace's doctors approved it, and if there was one thing Brandon's mind was set on, it was not to hold off any longer than they had to. He had waited once before, thinking with blinders on that the world would never so drastically change, that _his_ world would not change. He was never going to make that mistake again, especially not with Ace. 

Brandon gave a dismissive shrug; when you've grown up around millions of tourists gawking at your city, you don't have much desire to become one of them yourself. "Not what I came here for, anyway," he responded, fingers making their way down Ace's shirt until it was completely unbuttoned. Ace looked down at his lover's handiwork and caught a glint of metal along one of Brandon's slender fingers, catching the light from above, before Brandon took the opportunity to snake his arms past the shirt and around Ace's waist. 

They had kissed while Ace had still been bedridden in the hospital, beyond certainty, but it was always unbalanced and awkward, with Ace complaining he felt like some Disney princess placed under a spell to be awakened by a prince. When he had arose from his hospital bed for the first time, with his doctor and nurses monitoring his progress, the first thing Ace did was pull Brandon into an embrace - it had been so long since he had held him, really felt him in his arms - and kiss him properly. Now, they kissed as if each time their lips met it was a precious gift, a sacred one, that both men fully knew how to treasure. 

Feeling a pleasured sigh rise in his throat, Ace deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue along Brandon's bottom lip, graciously asking for entrance. Brandon wasted no time in responding, opening his mouth to grant Ace access, engulfing himself in his heady taste. Rising from his kneeling position before the bed, Brandon eased Ace back against the mattress, taking extra precautions for Ace's weakened limbs as he lay above him, busy hands swiftly yet carefully sliding Ace's shirt from his shoulders. Ace had already been home for two weeks, and while the couple was resigned to celebrating their seventh anniversary in a hospital room, they had been resolved to figure out the practical mechanics of making love in this new situation; they considered it a priority over Ace tying his shoes and learning how to brush his teeth with his non-dominant hand. 

Ace raised his good left hand to Brandon's cheek as he watched Brandon's ministrations, fingertips working their way along the older man's jaw. Brandon felt the cold, heavy metal on his cheek before the warmth of Ace's fingers and he started from the surprise; a pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless. 

"Sorry," he chuckled, breaking the kiss and bringing up his own hand to cover Ace's. His fingers toyed with the titanium ring he found there, its smooth, rounded curves fitting Ace like a second skin. "Not quite used to how that feels yet." 

"It's okay," Ace smiled, thankful that the ring was even there at all. Brandon's arm snaked back around his waist, and the matching band of metal along the older man's finger was cool and comforting against Ace's skin. It would take some getting used to, but both men were certain it was something they could handle. Ace rested his hand against his chest, a wave of satisfaction rolling in when he noticed Brandon's gaze following that hand, that ring, with an expression of joy and reverence Ace never imagined he'd see in those eyes. "My mom's gonna pitch a damn fit," he said with a laugh, enjoying his lover's bemused expression over mentioning Kay Young when he obviously wanted sex. "When she finds out we eloped without even telling her." 

Brandon tried to picture the older woman's frowning face, arms crossed curtly at her chest, admonishing her youngest for robbing her the opportunity of one last wedding, but an excited smile always shone through even in his thoughts. "She'll be happy for us," he said in a soft voice, a finger idly tracing patterns along Ace's chest, careful to circumvent the healing scars there. "She knew this was coming, anyway." 

When the Youngs had finally arrived to the hospital, Kay's face red and blotchy from tears, Jay's eyes full of exhaustion caused by more than mere lack of sleep, they were greeted by the relieving, happy image of their son holding his boyfriend's hand and announcing that they were getting married. No one had discussed dates or plans, though Kay had attempted to inject flower arrangements and guest lists into empty pockets of conversation during their entire stay; she had to take it as a hint, Brandon thought, that the couple let every one of her plans die in conversation, that the looks in their eyes told the world they weren't willing to wait for an open weekend at the Denver Country Club. 

But even if she couldn't be there for the ceremony, Ace knew nothing short of a bulldozer was going to stop his mother from celebrating in her own way. "There'll be a party," he rolled his eyes, remembering his mother's skewed definition of "small and intimate reception" when Duff had tied the knot. "You can count on that. And you can bet its size'll be proportionate to the guilt she wants to put on us for not inviting her to see the actual ceremony." 

"We got married in City Hall," protested Brandon; the good province of Ontario recommended couples bring their own witness for the arrangement, but neither Brandon nor Ace wanted to choose among their friends for the coveted position, and the rest of the vacation was theirs and theirs alone. A stout, brassy Greek woman, who was in the waiting room as a witness for her daughter's marriage, stepped up as an adequate substitute, and even offered her daughter's bouquet, but the couple declined, not knowing which one would ultimately hold it. But none of the details mattered, not the witnesses or that they made their vows in a white plaster room in Niagara Falls instead of Ace's family church in Colorado; all that mattered were the rings on their fingers and the love that swelled in their hearts. 

Ace shook his head, squirming as Brandon's fingers brushed over a particularly ticklish spot on his waist, a location Brandon commonly utilized when he wanted to get his way. "Won't matter," he said. "She's definitely going to go all out, invite family members I haven't even heard of. Probably already has the hall booked." Ace was the youngest of five stout, healthy sons, and Brandon knew they weren't the only branch of the Young family tree that flowered fruitfully. The extended family spread far throughout the snowy terrain of Colorado and beyond, and, knowing Kay Young, she would attempt to bring them all together to celebrate her son's marriage. 

"Just so long as we don't have to give a speech," Brandon joked, leaning in to brush his lips against Ace's jaw, painting his cheek with feather-like kisses. 

Suddenly feeling the exhaustion of a full day of sightseeing weigh upon his shoulders, Brandon rested his body alongside Ace's, their legs slung over the edge of the mattress uncomfortably but neither man caring. Though his thoughts of capping off the evening with Ace screaming out his name in ecstasy weren't completely scrapped, Brandon contented himself with lazy touches, the physical contact between the two men the more important thing in his mind. His fingers traced back up to his lover's face, carefully skipping over the scars like water skimmers; he knew the scratches no longer hurt Ace, but he didn't want to remind him of his injuries any more than he already was. But he didn't receive the warm smile he had become accustomed to, or the light laughter that his heart ached for every day: Ace was silent, his eyes searching Brandon's apologetically, his voice heavy as if his words were made of lead. 

"I'm sorry," his eyes dropped, suddenly ashamed of his mother's doting, his brothers' wedding legacies; the memories and traditions of a family Brandon lost, never truly had. "I go on and on about my parents and my brothers and every relative under the sun, and you -" he cut himself off, never wanting to be the one to bring back Brandon's memory of the family that abandoned him, that threw him away. When he had promised Brandon he would never do the same to him, Ace made a vow to himself that he'd never let Brandon's family hurt him again, even as specters in the older man's mind. He started again, his voice a timid whisper. "Your family...probably won't want to be there," he reasoned, though it was just as reasonable that they wouldn't, nor would they ever be, invited. 

Brandon took a moment to answer, watching the uncertainty crossing over his boyfriend's - no, husband, he was going to have to get used to that, too - face, the topic that they never mentioned finally broached. But Brandon had learned long ago that the term "family" did not always mean one's blood, that you could find more love and compassion from a stranger than you might from those who were supposed to care unconditionally. That it is the life you live together, the experiences - the gleeful highs as well as the heartbreaking lows - that truly bind one another. It is the first kiss that leaves you dizzy, the way they say "I love you" like the words are made of gold. It's how a fight ends in each other's arms, and the worst day in a city's history can shine brighter with just their presence. It's knowing your world has been different ever since you've seen the green of those eyes, that face smiling back like the world has just begun. It's being so close to losing it all, and knowing that now you never can again. 

Taking Ace's good hand in his, Brandon lifted them to his lips, kissing the ring along Ace's finger, for the first time feeling its weight as a blessing. " _You_ are my family."

**Author's Note:**

> Every summer for over 40 years the [Delacorte Theater in Central Park](http://www.centralpark.com/pages/attractions/delacorte-theatre.html) has been the home to Public Theater’s [Shakespeare In The Park](http://www.publictheater.org/content/view/126/219/), where a different Shakespeare play is performed every year by Bard veterans and celebrity actors alike. (Some celebrities performing in recent years have been Patrick Stewart, Glenn Close, Lauren Ambrose, and Julia Stiles, off the top of my head.) The year of 2001, when Brandon met Ace, they were performing [Measure For Measure](http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9A06E5DE113EF934A25755C0A9679C8B63&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss), a moral comedy about love, sex, and beheadings, and starred Billy Crudup as the contrary Angelo. The title of the story is from a line in the play. It’s amusing that out of all the great romantic plays of Shakespeare, in the year I arbitrarily chose to be the year these two lovebirds met the play was one of the least romantic stories out of the bunch!
> 
> Nearly every New Yorker indulges in people watching every now and then, and Brandon is no different. This time though it seems to have paid off for him!


End file.
